


Long Shot

by lorcaswhisky (aristofranes)



Series: Last Resort [2]
Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, communication via fortune cookies, fixing the injustice of erasing Discovery from history one poorly thought out escapade at a time, gratuitous descriptions of telepathy, not so much 'mutual pining' as 'mutual terror of accidentally having an emotion', questionable interplanetary diplomacy, questionable science, spying hijinks (spyjinks?), the grumpy one falls for the ... other grumpy one?, there was only one shuttle, unhealthy levels of coffee consumption, vehement denial of feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26834176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aristofranes/pseuds/lorcaswhisky
Summary: 2271. Gabriel never intended to swap one set of secrets for another, but if there's one thing he's learned, it's that life has a way of surprising you.Una doesn't want a partner - especially not on a mission that threatens to bring back bad memories. And yet, somehow, she's ended up stuck with both.But with Section 31 closing in and time running out, Gabriel, Una and the Network have to pin their hopes on a risky plan that could finally provide them with the breakthrough they need. Assuming, of course, that it doesn't bring everything crashing down in the process.Sequel to Lost Cause.
Relationships: Number One/Gabriel Lorca
Series: Last Resort [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957360
Comments: 52
Kudos: 18





	1. Network Protocols

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set in 2271 and picks up about six months after the events of Lost Cause, roughly a year since Gabriel joined the Network.

_ He ran the data a second time, even though he already knew that there was no mistake. He had made quite certain of that. _

_ There it was again. Proof. Incontrovertible proof.  _

_ They had taken great pains to cover their tracks. Not a single one of their numerous crimes - a subspace hack here, a viral game there, unauthorised broadcasts, insidious whispers on conspiracy forums - could be traced back to them.  _

_ But the tracks  _ between  _ the tracks told a very different story. The tracks between the tracks - those all marched in the same direction, straight to their door.  _

_ He sat back, a long finger tracing the line of his mouth as he thought, the cold light of the screens throwing the shadows of his face into deep relief.  _

_ Their attempts had become ever more bold of late. And if he was correct - which he usually was - this latest exploit would be their most audacious yet. _

_ To accuse them of treason would be no small matter. Their status, their popularity; there would be ripples that flowed out ever more widely from this, perhaps to the very top of the Federation itself.  _

_ And yet they must be stopped.  _

_ He had come to understand, better than most, that the universe could not simply be categorised into right and wrong, moral or immoral. That every decision rested somewhere on an axis between all of those points.  _

_ The decision to stop Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan and Amanda Grayson, to prevent them from letting loose a secret that risked everything, all that they had worked so hard to secure, was both right and moral.  _

_ He cleared the data from his console, careful to cover his own tracks as he did so. It would be unwise to allow this to go any further than it had already. _

_ He would see to it personally. _

*

Rain lashed against the window, as usual, the sky beyond bruised purple by clouds. The news anchor on the screen ran through the usual petty political make ups and break ups. In the kitchen, the replicator chimed, signalling the arrival of Gabriel’s usual breakfast order. Eggs with spinach and tomato. Fortune cookie containing coded messages from a shadow organisation dedicated to making right a terrible injustice. Black coffee.

The usual.

It wasn’t exactly how he’d thought his retirement might go; codes and cover-ups and covert missions. Then again, he’d never really thought he’d retire, so it probably balanced out. Could be that accidentally falling into a secret society whose stated objective was to undo the systematic erasure of a whole ship from history happened to loads of washed-up former Starfleet officers. 

Gabriel sipped at his mug, smoothed out this morning's fortune, dug out the latest cipher and got to work.

If someone had told him, as he looked at a not dissimilar piece of paper on a sticky bar counter almost a year ago, that he would end up swapping one set of secrets for another - that, in fact, he'd probably end up with more secrets than he'd started with - he'd have quit on the spot.

He was glad he hadn't. 

An alert from an incoming call broke his concentration. Glancing the caller ID, he groaned. Another thing that had become all too usual. 

He’d probably put this off as long as he could. Time to get it over with.

_ “Connecting to Jimothy Timothy Kirk,”  _ the computer declared, in an incongruously chipper tone.

Today's ensemble involved epaulettes, a plunging neckline, and more gold braiding than was strictly necessary. Gabriel turned the brightness on his screen down.

_ “Gabe!”  _ Underneath his moustache, which was rendered in horribly high definition, Mudd's smile was effusive.  _ “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.” _

“Been trying,” Gabriel muttered, scowling at the clue and scratching out another painstaking couple of digits on his PADD. 

_ “Sorry?” _

“Been busy." Gabriel looked up, innocently. "You know how it is.”

Mudd pouted.

_ "Well, I  _ might  _ if  _ someone _ ever bothered telling me anything." _

The Network had agreed - not that it should ever really have been up for debate as far as Gabriel was concerned - that there was no way Mudd could be brought into their confidence. Their work required subtlety and trust, two concepts that were completely alien to the man. Gabriel had hoped this would mean the end of their association, but it had turned out his optimism was wildly misplaced for a couple of very important reasons. First, Mudd was, unfortunately, very useful: so long as someone - Gabriel - could rein him in, his antics could provide the Network with the distraction necessary to deploy all kinds of strikes. Somehow, Mudd didn't seem to have noticed that all of the schemes he involved Gabriel in ended with him not actually achieving his goal of acquiring untold riches, a fact which spoke volumes about his usual success rate.

The second problem was that somewhere along the way, and despite Gabriel's very vocal protestations and all rational evidence to the contrary, Mudd had decided they were friends. 

"Told you. Got a job in - communications."

_ "And I told  _ you _ that you are the least communicative person I know. What's your speciality? Grunting? You're very eloquent when it comes to that, I'll grant." _

Gabriel grunted, eloquently, and turned back to the fortune cookie slip, brow furrowed. Another few digits revealed themselves.

_ "I just don't think it's a good fit for you,"  _ Mudd amended, holding up a bejeweled hand placatingly. 

"Let me guess. You've got something that would suit me better."

_ "You see?" _ Mudd gestured between the two of them.  _ "Synergy. We're on the same wavelength." _

"I'm not sure we're even on the same plane of existence."

_ "Oh, don't be too hard on yourself. We can't all operate on a higher level."  _ Mudd puffed up, apparently delighted by his own wit.  _ "Now, to business. I have a proposal for you." _

"Uh-huh. Is it illegal?"

_ "Only if you apply a very narrow definition of the word." _

"Like the law, you mean?"

_ "Gabe, don't be a bore."  _

"That's what I thought," Gabriel sighed, applying himself to the clue again. "Alright. Let's hear it."

Mudd beamed. 

_ "You may recall that I recently embarked on a new venture in the Orion sector—" _

“Remind me. Was this the guy you were going to steal from after he conned you, or the guy you were going to con after he stole from you? It’s all such a blur.”

Mudd sniffed.

_ “He didn’t con me, he merely … reneged on the terms of our agreement.” _

“He double-crossed you.”

_ “He reneged on the terms of our agreement, and - look, that bit’s not important. The  _ important  _ bit is that as a result of a very small misunderstanding, Starfleet has impounded certain - assets of mine that I’m keen to see returned to me. And I thought that you might relish another opportunity to stick it to the man.”  _ Mudd often reminded Gabriel of a wolf, but right now his expression was more like an asshole cat who had deposited something sticky and half eaten in front of him and expected to be praised for it.

“How - thoughtful of you,” he said, tactfully. 

_ “I know, I know,”  _ Mudd preened.  _ “Now, pay attention, Gabe…”  _

Looking between the cipher and the fortune, though, Gabriel barely took in any of Mudd’s waffle. He’d finally worked out the second half of the riddle.

He lay down his stylus and stared at the unscrambled message in front of him.

Huh.

_ “... I’ve made a few preliminary sketches, and I don’t think it would actually take that much glitter at all to—” _

“Great. Send the plans over on the usual channels,” Gabriel interrupted. He had less than no interest in whatever terrible scheme Mudd had planned, but he could forward it on to the Network. They might be able to take advantage of it. Or - anonymously tip off Starfleet Security if it turned out to be a really bad idea. “I’ll join you if I can.”

Mudd pursed his lips, drawing his moustache down into a chevron of disappointment. 

_ “That’s what you said last time.” _

“I was busy.”

_ “And the time before that—” _

“Busy. Got to go, Mudd.”

Gabriel saw Mudd open his mouth, sucking in breath for a protest, and severed the connection before he could launch it.

He’d feel bad about it, except that Mudd was a) the worst person he’d had the misfortune of coming across in a long time, b) an actual criminal who among many, many other things had double-crossed Gabriel (twice), drugged him (twice) and sold him to a bounty hunter (fortunately only the once and it had ended up working out fine, but it was the principle of the thing) and c) only really interested in having Gabriel come along so that he had a fall guy on hand for when things inevitably hit the fan. 

And besides, Gabriel really was busy this time.

He'd have to pack a bag and book himself onto the next transport off of this rock. He had a trip ahead of him.

A summons to Vulcan was rare enough to be noteworthy. Sarek’s work afforded him a certain amount of leeway that the Network was only too happy to turn to their advantage - all Sarek had to do, seemingly, was invoke diplomatic immunity and Starfleet would turn a blind eye to almost anything. A few unexpected guests arriving on Vulcan could be explained away. But an endless parade of oddballs - which, so far as Gabriel had been able to ascertain, described the entirety of the Network's ranks - turning up on-planet was bound to catch someone’s attention sooner or later. So the Network’s cells were kept updated via codes along secure channels, with operatives briefed by their handlers. For Gabriel, that meant codes arriving via fortune cookies - the ciphers for which seemed to be changing with ever-increasing speed lately - and briefings with Una. 

A summons to Vulcan meant something big. And as far as he was concerned, it couldn’t come too soon.

It wasn’t that the Network hadn’t made progress. But for the sake of his sanity, Gabriel had had to readjust his definition of the word over the last few months. The work was slow, the results incremental, a war of attrition in which victories were measured in clusters of comms traffic, in the tiny pockets of doubt that the Network managed to prise open. Like drops of water eroding stone, most of what they did went quietly unnoticed, but - let the water find the right path, let it exploit some unseen crack in the stonework, and whole chunks of rock could shift. 

But unlike water and stone, and the unstoppable forces at play there, the Network had to contend with another, far more unpredictable element.

_ People. _

For every person they managed to reach, there would be tens more who ignored the message, or who refused to believe, or, worse, failed to understand the evidence in front of them. People who, when confronted with the  _ truth,  _ simply looked away.

People, as Mudd had told him once, in a rare moment of good sense, could always disappoint you. 

Gabriel had often wondered, in the early days of his association with the Network, why they didn’t simply have Sarek announce the whole thing during a Council debate, with cameras from every newscast across the Federation watching. He was the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth, after all. People  _ listened  _ to him. In, one hit, and done. Now, though, Gabriel was starting to believe that even if Sarek managed to produce  _ Discovery  _ and ride into the Council chamber stark naked and strapped to the hull, people would still find a way to deny it had ever happened. 

Sarek, of course, was utterly sanguine about all of this. Maybe it was easier to accept glacial progress when you could reasonably expect to reach your second century. When you weren’t in danger of running out of time. 

Gabriel, on the other hand, was impatient. Always had been. It didn’t seem to be a trait that was mellowing with age. 

He wanted  _ results. _

And maybe whatever awaited him on Vulcan was the answer.

*

Una considered the puzzle with a frown, and checked over her work one last time. 

A meeting on Vulcan was hardly an unusual request. It was, after all, the Network's main base of operations, not to mention the home of two-thirds - including the most stubborn third - of its leadership. 

In the corner of her data tablet, an alert flashed. She signed, annoyed at the interruption, and tucked her stylus behind her ear. Toggling the display, she pulled up a map of the building, the blue light of the screen painfully bright in the darkness. Three dots moving rapidly towards her location indicated that a small band of heavily armed security guards had been sent, somewhat optimistically, to apprehend her. Head tilted, she played out her options, then tapped out a few brief commands. 

False bio-readings in sector 2. That ought to keep them busy a while.

She settled back down, bracing her legs against the wall opposite so that she could rest the PADD on her knees, and got back to the real problem at hand. 

A meeting on Vulcan, in and of itself, was not particularly remarkable. The thing that she  _ did _ find remarkable was the secrecy with which the request had been shrouded. The message had been hidden under three layers of encryption, and even once she had peeled those back, all that it had revealed was a set of coordinates she already knew, and a date.

Surely she had missed something.

Another alert. Five of them, this time. Humming under her breath, Una triggered consecutive oxygen, gravity and proximity alarms to throw them off the scent, glad that she was insulated from the racket. 

She drummed her fingers against the tablet. There didn’t appear to be anything more to the clue, no hidden meaning she’d overlooked. Coordinates. Date. That was all. 

Sarek was prone to outbreaks of the dramatic, but even by his standards it seemed excessive.

Fortunately for all concerned, Una's wish to tell him so in person won out over her annoyance at being kept in the dark. Both the figurative and the actual. This confined space was starting to become a bore. 

In any event, she’d already gathered all the intel possible here. And judging by the rather more strident alert that was now flashing on her PADD, they had stopped underestimating her.

_ Twenty _ security guards. How flattering. The whirring she could hear indicated they were too late, of course, but it was the thought that counted. 

Una tutted as the mechanical loading arm buffeted the container she was hiding in, tumbling her against the side. A metallic  _ clunk  _ reverberated through the box as it finally made purchase, and the whole thing lurched as it was lifted away from the floor. The container, and Una with it, swung, suspended from the end of the arm while the loaderbot trundled up the ramp and into the ship’s cargo bay, setting her down again none too gently in the midst of rows of identical crates. 

While the ringing faded away, she blew an errant strand of hair out of her face. 

All that was left for her was to sit back, hack into the ship’s feed so that she could monitor the status of their journey, and wait. Yawning, Una shuffled into the least uncomfortable position possible and closed her eyes. Might as well make the most of the quiet. 

Next time, though, she’d splash out on a ticket with better legroom. 

It was a mercifully short and uneventful flight, and it wasn’t long before Una awoke to the sounds and sensations of another loaderbot as the cargo was unloaded. Tapping into nearby security cameras allowed her to watch their progress, bumping along as the bot trawled its way through the docks until, at last, it deposited her without ceremony at her destination. 

Una ensured that the coast was clear, cut the feed to the nearest cameras, then reached up to rotate the lid open and stood, stretching gratefully, before clambering out. She permitted herself a small smile as she looked up at the sleek lines of the  _ Minerva.  _ The system gave a warm chirp of recognition as she palmed the lock, and the hatch slid open.

At warp three, the estimated journey time to Vulcan was precisely the score of  _ H.M.S. Pinafore _ plus act one of  _ The Pirates of Penzance _ in duration. Una entrusted the coordinates to the computer, and went to freshen up while music filled the shuttle. 

Coming home always gave Una a fresh appreciation of what she had. As the lights rose in her little cabin, though, she realised that it also had the unfortunate effect of drawing her attention to the one item that didn’t match anything else in the room. Most of the time, she could tolerate it by virtue of familiarity - she could go for weeks at a time without noticing it; now it bothered her anew. 

She had never liked the thing. It was, quite frankly, twee, and worse, anatomically incorrect, offending on both the aesthetic and the scientific level. Una hardly considered herself sentimental, but its presence on the shelf next to her bed rather challenged that assertion. Towelling her hair, she stared at it with lips pursed and considered, as she did every time she noticed it, throwing it out, or at least moving it to a less prominent spot, and once again determined to do no such thing.

Utterly unsentimental, except when it came to ugly, wonky, wooden horse figurines, apparently.

It was late afternoon by the time she made planetside on Vulcan, and the heat hung hazy over the desert. Una guided the  _ Minerva  _ along the course of a gully that might once have been a riverbed but now lay long dry, its path a branching scar against the landscape. 

_ "… Although our dark career _

_ Sometimes involves the crime of stealing, _

_ We rather think that we’re _

_ Not altogether void of feeling…" _

While the final strings of the act faded away, she landed in her usual spot, a narrow canyon far enough from the path that it was unlikely to be spotted, and made her way over familiar terrain to the crypt, humming as she went.

A shout broke through the peace, stopping her in her tracks.

"Una!"

She turned, shielding her eyes against the sun. In the distance, a figure jogged to catch her up, broad-shouldered, grey-haired, bearded.

Gabriel.

Something else that Sarek's message had failed to mention.

He grinned a greeting as he drew level with her, catching his breath. The nearest town - though in this instance the concepts of both 'nearest' and 'town' were slight exaggerations - where a transport service ran was several miles from here, but judging by the state of his boots, coated red with dust from the desert, he'd walked the whole way. A bag was slung over his shoulders, a flask of water clipped to the side, and he opened it now for a deep swig.

"Been a while," he said at last.

"Yes." Wrongfooted, it came out more stiffly than Una had intended. "I've - been busy."

"Oh. Yeah." Gabriel's craggy features flickered with - something. Disappointment, perhaps. Or maybe just cramp. He took another sip. "Me too."

Recovering her composure a little, Una let herself fall back into a professional demeanour. It wouldn't do to let Gabriel realise that she was surprised to see him there. She was supposed to be his handler. She was  _ supposed  _ to know what he was up to at all times. What the hell was Sarek playing at?

"It's good to see you," she said, allowing him to fall into step alongside her.

"You too." He jerked his chin in the direction of the crypt. "Why all the secrecy?" 

A very good question. 

"You'll find out soon enough."

And so would she.


	2. Mission: Illogical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up that it's looking like fortnightly is gong to be about the best I can manage in terms of an updating schedule - I have the majority of this fic already drafted out, but there's a pandemic on, and I've found lately that my ability to concentrate on Words is ... changeable.
> 
> Anyway. Onwards!

The doors closed behind them, the sound whisper-soft despite their towering size. In his pocket, Gabriel’s communicator chirped a warning as it lost all contact with the outside world, and then there was nothing. It wasn’t simply quiet - the desert was quiet, save for the play of wind over sand and rocks; this was a silence centuries deep. 

Surreptitiously shaking the sand that had got into his boots into a less uncomfortable spot, Gabriel considered Una. Considered the back of her head, at least, because she was already stalking off through the silent hallways of the crypt. He hadn’t seen her in-person in months, but clearly they wouldn’t be catching up any time soon. Their most recent meetings had all been over video, including one memorable check-in during which she had been lit only by the glow of her PADD and had abruptly left after a staccato burst of what had sounded unmistakably, to Gabriel’s unfortunately well-trained ear, like phaser fire. He’d spent an anxious few minutes wondering at what point he ought to contact Amanda and Sarek, and then she’d returned his call like she’d got back from nothing more exciting than a walk around the block. His enquiries had been cut off with the kind of finality that indicated hell would be experiencing unseasonably chilly temperatures before he found out what had happened. 

Which was … Una in a nutshell, really.

Una didn’t surprise easily. She was always a couple steps ahead of Gabriel - ahead of everyone, so far as he could work out. And while she would never stoop to actually admitting it, she had definitely looked like she was recalibrating her expectations of this meeting. That, Gabriel thought, was the second indicator that this was something big. Una, Amanda, and Sarek - they _were_ the Network. No mission, no assignment, however small, went ahead without the agreement of all three of them. Gabriel had always got the impression that they had no secrets from each other where their work was concerned. 

But Una hadn’t been expecting him to show. Which meant that, whatever it was, Amanda and Sarek hadn’t seen fit to share it with her yet. Which _meant:_ something big.

Speaking of being a few steps ahead - Una was disappearing off without him into the darkness ahead, long strides putting distance between them. Feeling just a little pleased with his deductions, Gabriel picked up his pace to match hers, footsteps ringing out in the quiet. 

Amanda, at least, didn’t hide her delight at seeing them both when they reached the chamber. Gabriel suspected that she might be the only person in the galaxy who could get away with hugging Una; hell, Amanda was probably the only person who could get away with hugging _him,_ although he wasn’t sure he had any real say in the matter as she held him at arms' length for inspection before crushing him in a swift but surprisingly robust embrace. 

Sarek treated them both to a curt nod, which felt safer all round. 

Not much had changed since Gabriel’s last visit. The high-domed space was lit again by torches - real, not holos, though any warmth that might have radiated from the flames seemed to be soaked straight back into the ancient stone of the walls. After the heat of the desert, the crypt was blissfully cool, and Gabriel pulled at the front of his shirt where it had begun to stick to his chest, trying to get some air to himself. Maybe a five mile trek in the afternoon sun hadn’t been such a great idea.

Amanda ushered them towards the low table in the centre of the room, carved out of the ground itself, on which tea had been set, as always. Gabriel sank onto one of the stone stools at its edge gratefully, which every muscle in his legs took as the signal to start complaining about the effort he’d just subjected them to. 

While Sarek poured, Una looked like she’d rather skip straight to business, but much like the hug it appeared that this was non-negotiable. Gabriel’s throat felt like he’d gargled with sand, and he drained his glass almost straight away despite the heat and the bitterness of the brew, which earned him a raised eyebrow and a second helping of the stuff.

“Alright. Out with it,” Una said, once Sarek had filled his own glass, having apparently decided that she’d observed the pleasantries for long enough. 

Sarek folded his hands, his face inscrutable, while Amanda opted for a not particularly convincing, “Out with what?” 

“You only ever bring _that_ blend when it’s bad news, because it’s supposed to be calming.”

“It is?” Gabriel wrinkled his nose at his glass, which was already half empty again.

“If you let it touch the sides, yes,” Una quipped. She turned back to Sarek with a sigh. “So. The bad news. What is it?”

“There is no logic in assigning emotional value to factual accounts—”

“We’ve got some bad news,” Amanda confirmed, before Una could get in her retort. “We monitor the Network’s systems constantly for signs of hostile access.” This part of the explanation was, Gabriel suspected, for his benefit; Una tapped a painted fingernail against the surface of the stone table, impatient. “In the past few weeks, there have been multiple attempts to breach our security. Each one has been more sophisticated than the last.”

“Section 31?” Gabriel asked, hoarse.

The metronome of Una’s tapping ceased and she tensed, suddenly alert.

“The data is inconclusive,” Sarek said. “Speculation would be illogical.”

“But we think so, yes,” Amanda added. 

“That’s impossible,” Una murmured. 

“Statistically unlikely,” Sarek corrected her. “But not impossible.”

A shiver ran through Gabriel that had nothing to do with the cold. 

“That’s why the cipher’s been changing so often,” he said. “You’ve been trying to hold them off. How close are they?” 

The existence of Section 31 had left a bad taste in his mouth even before they’d systematically gaslit him, cut him off from any remaining support network he might conceivably have salvaged and essentially exiled him to the other side of the galaxy. And that had been nothing compared to finding out the part they’d played in nearly wiping out all sentient life in the universe and erasing an entire ship from history. 

Maybe he needed more of that tea after all.

“Close. And gaining.” Amanda looked more serious than Gabriel had ever seen her. “For now, they appear to be content to watch and wait. But it would seem logical—” she shot a look at her husband, who didn’t argue, “—to assume that they will make a move, and soon.” 

“It is therefore imperative that we strike first.” Sarek placed a small holographic projector on the table. At his touch, a planet appeared, emerald green, rotating slowly in the air between them. “This is NG-323.”

“Catchy,” said Gabriel.

“Deadly,” Una supplied, looking at the statistics that ran alongside the image and swiping through them with increasing disdain. “I hope you aren’t proposing to move our base of operations there. We’d certainly be left alone, but only because we wouldn’t survive long enough to be a threat to anyone.”

“I will never understand the human urge to utilise sarcasm during moments of great import,” Sarek sighed.

“Helps us to feel in control,” Una said.

“Deflection,” Gabriel shrugged.

“Sometimes it’s just funny,” Amanda added.

Staring between the three of them, Sarek looked as though he had just uncovered a new alien species.

“To … return to the matter in hand,” he said, clearly keen to get back to firmer ground. “I became aware of NG-323 during the course of my research for the Federation Council. The planet is rich in a number of strategic minerals, its inhabitants are warp capable, and, according to all available data, peaceful.”

“Excellent. Then let’s send them a welcome hamper and add another star to the flag.” Una’s arms were folded, her expression unimpressed. “This hardly sounds like business for the Network.”

“On the contrary. NG-323 has made no overtures to the Federation, and the Federation has no intention of initiating first contact. The Council has, in fact, instructed me to cease my research.”

“And obviously you’ve been behaving yourself,” Gabriel said, raising a sceptical eyebrow.

“I have respected the Council’s decision,” Sarek replied, with a grave nod of his head.

“So I picked up the research instead,” Amanda beamed. Sarek deferred to her, motioning for her to continue with a graceful sweep of his hand. While she took control of the projection, Gabriel unconsciously found himself sitting up a little straighter, reflecting not for the first time that she must have made an amazing teacher. “The planet itself is the fourth in a system bordered by a dense asteroid belt, and so far as we’ve been able to tell, despite considerable progress in warp technology, the inhabitants have never ventured any further than that boundary.” 

“They’re homebodies,” Gabriel said. “Not unusual.”

“No. What _is_ unusual is that they also appear to be significantly advanced in a number of other areas. In particular, large-scale telepathic communication.”

There it was. Something big.

“Telepathic?” Una said sharply.

“How large is large-scale?” Gabriel breathed. 

“I estimate that their technology would render them capable of disseminating information across an entire sector in a single pulse,” Sarek said.

“Thought you weren’t researching?” 

“The research is the work of she who is my wife. I simply applied mathematical formulae to the data.”

“I’m sure that distinction will make all the difference to the Council,” Una said, her words almost as pointed as the arch of her eyebrow.

“OK, so they’ve got the extremely advanced telepathic tech, we’ve got a starship we want to un-erase,” Gabriel said. “So - what? We ride up and ask to borrow it?”

Amanda’s look was sympathetic. _A for effort, B minus for attainment, Lorca._

“Quite aside from the hazardous atmosphere, the inhabitants of NG-323 are extremely secretive. Their planetary defence system is … challenging. It won’t be possible to land without a direct invitation. But we _do_ think we’ve worked out a way to broadcast a request to talk to them via their systems.”

“And _then_ ask to borrow the extremely advanced telepathic tech?” Gabriel shrugged and scratched his chin. “Alright. Not the worst plan I’ve ever heard.”

“What’s the worst?” Una asked, aghast. 

“How long have you got?”

Shaking her head, Una turned back to Amanda and Sarek, resting her elbows on the stone table and steepling her fingers together.

“You’re proposing that the Network make first contact with a species we know almost nothing about, who want nothing to do with the rest of the galaxy, and who have technology beyond our understanding, is that right?”

“We’ve used new technology before,” Amanda pointed out. 

“Not like this.” Una closed her eyes and breathed out, apparently choosing her words carefully. “I’m sure I don’t need to point out to the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth that first contact missions are - delicate. They take years of careful research and surveillance.” 

“There are numerous documented cases in which an unexpected first contact ended in success,” Sarek noted. 

“After the shooting stopped,” Una retorted. “Do we even know what these people look like? Why they might be motivated to help us? What they’re _called?”_

“Not yet,” Amanda admitted.

“I see.” Una turned to Gabriel abruptly. “Would you have sent the _Buran_ in on a mission like this?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied. 

“There—”

“But this isn’t Starfleet.”

Una glared her betrayal at him.

“If Section 31 - or whoever is behind the attacks on our systems,” Sarek amended, seeing Una’s look of protest, “is as close as the data suggests, then the time for subtlety has passed. We may only have one chance. Should this mission prove successful, it could be possible to share the truth about _Discovery_ with sufficient people that secrecy is no longer required, and Section 31’s control over the information becomes irrelevant.”

It was like Sarek had said. An entire sector in a single pulse. In just a few moves, they could reach every single person in the Federation at the same time. It would be impossible for anyone to deny that _Discovery_ existed when everyone had seen her. 

“We'd cause a tipping point,” Gabriel muttered. 

“That’s a lot of ifs,” Una said, but with marginally less conviction. 

“There always are, in our line of work,” Amanda said. “So to help lessen those ifs, we would be sending the two operatives who have the most experience in first contact situations.”

Una frowned.

“The two operatives?” she repeated.

Amanda smiled and spread her hands, encompassing Gabriel and Una.

In the silence that followed, they stared at each other. From the way the conversation had been going, Gabriel had presumed that the mission was his, and that Una was here to cast the deciding vote on whether it went ahead. Judging by Una’s expression, she hadn’t expected this twist either, and was less than thrilled with her second surprise of the day.

“Una will act as mission lead, of course,” Amanda said, with somewhat less confidence than before, apparently sensing their uncertainty. 

“Of course,” Gabriel said quietly. 

As his handler, he saw a fair amount of Una. They got along well enough, he thought, but it was always at arm’s length. In a year of briefings, all he’d really learned about her was her tendency towards ruthless efficiency, and how she took her coffee - important things to know in any working relationship, but not exactly illuminating. She preferred to keep their interactions strictly professional, tightly focussed on Network business. Which wasn’t a problem - it was hardly like Gabriel was much of a conversationalist. But they didn’t _know_ each other, not really, and they’d never actually worked together. In fact, the last time he had been actively involved in one of Una’s missions, she’d technically been in the process of kidnapping him. It hardly felt like an auspicious start.

Una was quiet, staring at the projection between them. Gabriel got the strong impression that whatever she wanted to say, she didn’t want to say it here.

“There’s a world of difference between telling everyone the truth about _Discovery_ \- even telepathically - and everyone accepting that truth,” she said at last.

“You’re right, of course,” Amanda said, softly. “But it seems like a good start, don’t you think?”

It felt like more than that to Gabriel. A lot more. A chance to get back at Section 31, level the playing field, and to achieve their objective, finally fixing the injustice done to _Discovery,_ all in one hit.

“I’m in,” he said decisively, then caught himself. “Uh. That is. If Una is.”

Una could still veto this. If she said no, that was it; the whole thing was off. Glancing over at her, Gabriel tried to work out what she was thinking, which way she was leaning, but to no avail. Her expression was unreadable. He clenched his fists under the table, one foot tapping, willing her to the right decision.

The ghostly planet continued its steady progress, the light it cast as it spun sending shadows shrinking and stretching over the jagged walls of the crypt.

Finally, Una sighed.

“When do we start?”


	3. On Her Majesty's Secret Service

“Sarek sends you a whole cryptic crossword to pass on instructions?” 

“Of course not.” Looking thoughtfully at the PADD she had propped up on the helm, painted nails sparkling in the light cast by its screen, Una tapped a stylus against her lower lip. 

“Oh.” That made Gabriel feel a bit better, at least. “Good.”

“That would be incredibly insecure. It also has to be cross-referenced against a sudoku square, and occasionally a  _ zhatar s’tem _ .”

He sagged.

“I - don’t even know how that would work.”

“Which is good, because if you did, we’d need a new code.”

He noticed a PADD displaying another half-completed puzzle stowed in the nets above him, and fished it out.

“What’s this one telling you?” he asked, glaring at the first clue. It might as well have been written in Denobulan for all he could make of it.

“That one is purely recreational.”

“We have … diverging ideas of what constitutes ‘fun’,” Gabriel muttered.

“Which is also good, because I only downloaded enough for one person on this flight.” Una reached over and pulled the PADD from his unresisting hands, setting it aside. “This will only take a few minutes.”

“A few—?”

Pursing his lips, Gabriel recalled how long he’d spent working out the single line in his most recent fortune cookie. 

He had always felt reasonably secure in his own intelligence, but he was starting to think he might be at a very different point on that spectrum to Una. Possibly a different spectrum altogether.

“I’ll - uh. Go unpack,” he said, rallying. “Have fun.”

She acknowledged him with a vague nod, already deep in work, and he tromped off aft with as much dignity as a man with two boots full of sand could manage. 

Una ran a tight ship, a fact which suited Gabriel just fine. On the  _ Minerva,  _ unlike the shuttle he’d shared with Mudd, an experience he was yet to fully recover from, there was no risk of breaking your neck by slipping on a candy wrapper, or of finding yourself impaled on a flyaway tool in the event of a grav-drive failure. Everything here was stowed neatly, in regulation order. The whole place had been streamlined and configured exactly how she liked it - customised, too; Gabriel had never even heard of half of the systems running, and he suspected that was because this was the only place they existed. 

It didn’t take him long to refamiliarise himself with the compact footprint: helm and consoles at fore, along with a secondary station; small living space behind that - table and chairs to port, and an emergency bunk that folded into the bulkhead on the starboard side, one which came in handy if, say, you had disguised yourself as a bounty hunter and needed somewhere to stick the drugged-up guy you’d technically just kidnapped. 

To take a completely random example, obviously. 

To aft, at the far end of a short corridor - docking hatch, and an access panel in the floor leading to engines and propulsion systems, which Gabriel had been informed that he was not to touch on pain of, if not death, then certainly a sting from a particularly acute eyebrow. 

Former helmsman, Gabriel reminded himself. They always were touchy about that sort of thing. 

Along the way, to either side, doors led to a kitchen that some optimistic real estate agent would probably describe as ‘cozy’, a small bathroom, and a pair of equally minimalist cabins. Despite appearing identical to Gabriel’s eye, he had been assigned one in a tone which indicated that Una had a firm preference for the other. He keyed the lock to it now, and the immaculate room beyond lit up as the door slid open. 

Gabriel had stayed in the same cabin for that first, unexpected journey with her. He'd noticed then, although it hadn't exactly been high on his list of priorities, that it had that unmistakable new-shuttle smell; that had been the best part of a year ago, but it was still present now. In fact, there was nothing to indicate that anyone else had been there at all since him. He felt almost guilty when he dropped his bag on the bed, leaving creases there.

Unpacking took even less time than the tour. He had a couple changes of clothes and a handful of toiletries from the journey to Vulcan in his bag, along with a secure PADD and communicator that the Network had given him, but they would replicate everything else they needed along the way. There was, however, one other mission-critical bit of kit he’d brought with him, and he sat on the edge of the bed with his bag on his lap and rummaged around for it now.

The image tablet he pulled out contained copies of the photos that Chris had retrieved and Una had returned to him. Photos of Kat, of Pippa, of his crew. His reasons for doing all of this. He’d been long enough without them - the photos and the sense of purpose - that now, it came everywhere with him.

There was a shallow shelf recessed into the bulkhead next to the bed. He set the tablet on it, engaged the magclips to fasten it tight, and set it to scroll through the files.

There. Home, for the next few cycles, at least.

As predicted, by the time he got back a few minutes later, Una was already preparing systems for launch. 

“We have coordinates,” she said, hands moving over the console in well-practiced motions. “But we’ll be making a stop en route.”

“Oh?” Gabriel buckled into the station beside her, the braces of which were stiff from lack of use.

Una tilted a screen towards him, and he grinned broadly at the familiar digits there.

“I’ll have to dust off my curtsey.” 

It had been a while since he’d been to see the Network’s highest ranking associate. 

Once they were safely in orbit, Vulcan shrinking steadily into the distance in the reverse viewscreen, Una said, “I suppose we should draw up a rota.” 

“I’ll take the night shift,” Gabriel replied straight away. Judging by her expression, she’d expected him to at least put up a minor resistance. He shrugged. It wasn’t as though he kept regular sleep patterns anyway. Hadn’t since getting back from There. Nightmares worked just as well during the daytime, unfortunately, and although these days they were increasingly few and far between, the damage to his routines had already been done. “I really don’t mind.”

“In that case, I’ll take dayshift.” Una glanced at the chronometer. “See you at twenty one hundred?”

The first few days passed uneventfully. Gabriel and Una stuck rigidly to their shift patterns at first, their interactions limited to a handover that took place over the morning and evening meals, as well as the occasional awkward towel-swaddled post-shower corridor sidestep. Una near enough frightened the life out of him one evening by stepping out of the kitchen at the same time as he was leaving the bathroom, and he'd come perilously close to losing his towel in the process. 

They had both spent years working in enclosed spaces, where you got used to occasionally seeing more of a colleague than you’d intended, but all the same Gabriel was always careful to keep his gaze professionally averted when their roles were reversed. By the end of the fourth day, he’d become very well acquainted with one particular panel just to port of the bathroom door, and the smell of Una’s shampoo as she brushed past.

It wasn’t long, though, before the lines between shifts began to blur - one of them would wake early and shuffle into the living area to read, or loiter at the end of a shift to unwind before turning in, the pair of them sharing the small space in companionable silence. Or, at least, Gabriel hoped it was companionable silence. It had been a while since he’d had anyone to sit in silence  _ with. _ It could just be that he was out of practice. 

Mudd didn’t count. Mudd treated silence like a personal affront. It was very likely Mudd had never encountered a silence that he hadn’t tried to sell.

Una, though … it was hard to tell, with Una. She played everything close to the chest. He got the impression that if it  _ wasn’t  _ a companionable silence, he’d be the first to know about it, but he wasn’t sure how reassuring that thought really was. 

After a handover at the end of another unremarkable shift, during which Gabriel had had little to do other than occasionally nudge the  _ Minerva  _ back towards the most efficient course, he found himself hanging around once again, and headed to the kitchen to make a coffee. 

Una looked up from the helm, surprised, at the mug he proffered a short while later.

“Thank you.” She gestured at the mug in his own hands. “I hope that's decaffeinated.”

“Gonna try and beat the spacelag. Power through. Can’t be long now.”

Una glanced at the readouts on her screen.

“ETA two point four-seven hours,” she informed him.

“So.” Gabriel nodded at the seat next to her. “You mind? If I go back to my cabin there’s a risk my brilliant scheme will fall apart.”

Una waved her assent, and Gabriel lowered himself down with a grunt. He retrieved his PADD from the seat’s sidepocket and groaned at the number of notifications waiting there, swiping through them with a morbid curiosity. 

Mudd had … certainly been busy.

_ >>NEW MESSAGE RECEIVED<< _

_ Roses are red _

_ Your eyes are blue _

_ I rerouted the entire comms system of a Starfleet facility through an Orion pizza place _

_ Just for you _

_ >>NEW MESSAGE RECEIVED<< _

_ Quick question, what’s the Orion for ‘override self destruct’? _

_ >>NEW MESSAGE RECEIVED<< _

_ That wasn’t rhetorical. _

_ >>NEW MESSAGE RECEIVED<< _

_ Helloooooooooo? _

_ >>NEW MESSAGE RECEIVED<< _

_ Never mind, I figured it out. But now my pizza’s cold. Good thing I know a place. _

_ >>NEW MESSAGE RECEIVED<< _

_ Light of my life, fire of my loins, _

_ Did you know that Starbase 49 has the  _ loveliest  _ little gelateria? As I sit here all alone with a view of the stars, I find that all I can think of is how your eyes would match this scrummy iceberry sorbet. _

_ Wish you were here, _

_ H x _

_ PS: I set replicators to overload and flooded the main concourse with iceberry sorbet, just in case that’s unclear _

_ PPS: yes, I evacuated everyone first, don’t look like that _

_ PPPS: actually, it’s really rather endearing when you’re cross _

“What is it?” Una asked. 

Gabriel held out the tablet for her to see, charting the progress of her eyebrow rising ever higher as she read.

“What’s the Orion for ‘help’?” he asked. 

“I’m sure Sarek could arrange for a restraining order,” Una said, reaching the latest message at about the same time as her eyebrow achieved its zenith.

“The guy’s broken out of seven jails. That we know of. It’ll take more than that to stop him.” He sighed, marked everything as read, and stashed the PADD again so that he didn’t have to think about it any more. "I'd like to point out that this kind of thing never happened to me before you showed up."

"You're welcome?"

Gabriel grinned and sat back.

“Anyway. All for the cause, right?” he said. 

“On behalf of the Network, thank you for your sacrifice.”

He cast her a wry salute and turned back to his coffee.

They watched the stars on the viewscreen for a while, Una trying to wake up and Gabriel trying to stave off sleep, until she said,

“Are you comfortable with the plan?”

“Get in, get the tech, get out, don’t bump into the furniture or piss anyone off in the process.” Gabriel grinned at her over the rim of his mug. “Pretty sure I can handle it.”

She hadn’t looked up from her screen, but her expression clouded briefly, and she pursed her lips like there was something else she wanted to say. Whatever it was, though, it seemed to pass.

“What are you going to wear?” she asked instead, eyes darting towards him as though the thought had only just occurred to her, the ‘ _ you’re not going looking like that, are you?’  _ kept more or less implicit.

Gabriel sighed. 

“Siobhan made me wear a suit, my first trip to Xahea,” he said darkly.

As always, Una’s face was inscrutable, but her eyes twinkled with undisguised mirth.

“Did she,” she commented, and sipped her coffee.

“She did.” Gabriel had been partnered with Siobhan Tilly on a not dissimilar mission to Xahea a few months back. It was fair to say that it had been … trying. He’d suspected that she’d been torn between wanting to punish him for the way the Other Him had treated her daughter, and recognising that that was an unreasonable stance to take, and so had decided to simply micromanage him into submission instead. By the time they were done, he’d been subjected to her opinions on everything from his beard (she disapproved: it added years to him) to the way he took his coffee (reasons unclear, Disapproval very clear; Gabriel had drunk so much of it he gave himself the shakes one night, just to annoy her). “But she was probably right.”

“Well, we  _ are _ here by royal appointment,” Una said mildly. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell Siobhan you agree with her.”

*

Some time ago, Una had programmed the computer’s alerts to emulate those of the  _ Enterprise _ . Not out of any sense of nostalgia, of course; after years on that ship, she had grown highly attuned to those particular sounds, and in a crisis, the ability to react instinctively to an alarm could save precious seconds. That was all.

The notification that sounded two point four-two hours later didn’t warn of any impending crisis; it simply informed her that they had reached Xahean airspace. All the same, there was a small twist of dread in Una’s stomach entirely out of keeping with the view as she eased the shuttle over the dark blue canopy of the Xahean rainforest. The foliage was so dense that it looked like an undulating sea, and below them, she knew, the trees would be rippling in their wake, sending up a heady scent and filling the air with the whispers of leaves. It was beautiful - majestic, awe-inspiring, even - and it didn’t help one bit. 

With a glare, Una silenced both the notification and the feeling, and prepared systems for landing.

She glanced sidelong at Gabriel. It was like he was a different man to the one she’d picked up a few months ago. Their recollections of the circumstances of that particular trip differed - he claimed that she had kidnapped him, she maintained that it was simply a conversation that had required an unconventional approach - but the fact remained that he had been tightly wound, nerves on a hair trigger. Sitting next to her today, though, he looked - not precisely at ease, because that didn’t appear to be a setting he possessed, but residing at no more than his usual baseline level of uncomfortable, the frown on his face no deeper than average. A vast improvement. It was almost possible to forget that not all that long ago, it had been almost a decade since he’d logged a single star-hour. 

Almost. She was still more comfortable knowing she was the one handling the landings. 

The trees began to thin out, although they didn’t disappear entirely, becoming integrated instead into clusters of dwellings that grew larger as they reached Xahea’s bustling capital. The docks lay on the outskirts, and Gabriel would have to transport back into the centre before finishing his journey to the palace on foot. 

Docking procedures complete, he grouched off aft to replicate and change into his suit. 

“The palace has acknowledged your credentials,” Una said, turning in the helm seat to face him as she heard his returning footsteps a while later. “Po’s secretary will meet you and—”

She stopped, raising an eyebrow. 

Gabriel’s usual wardrobe could best be described as ‘nondescript’ - sensible blue shirts, sensible dark pants, sensible boots, all apparently engineered to make him as forgettable as possible, a fact which was undeniably useful on most of his missions. Now, though, he looked - sharp. Black suit, black shirt, black tie. Still not exactly adventurous, but an ensemble that could only be described as well-cut. Even his beard was trimmed. 

The glower above it, of course, was exactly the same as always.

“You scrub up well,” she said, just in time to prevent the silence from becoming awkward. Gabriel sighed. He sighed a lot, Una had noted, but this was a particularly good one, a full-body sigh encompassing an eyeroll for extra emphasis. 

“I feel ridiculous,” he muttered, fiddling uncomfortably with his collar.

“You look the part.”

“Hmph.” Apparently giving it up as a lost cause, he straightened. “Same drill as usual?”

There was, Una had to concede, one big advantage to bringing Gabriel on a mission like this. In trying to hide him - whether for his safety or for theirs was unclear - Starfleet had effectively made Gabriel disappear. There weren't many people the Network couldn't find, but even so, it had taken them years to track him down. His records were practically a blank slate, which made imprinting a new identity on him child's play.

“Same drill as usual. You’re here on diplomatic business. If anyone checks, they’ll find your documents are all in order.” No-one would ever look much further than the royal invitation, of course. It paid to have friends in high places.

He nodded, then clicked his fingers as though he’d just remembered something. He disappeared off to the kitchen, returning a few moments later with a small, insulated box. Una frowned.

“What’s that?”

“Diplomatic business.” Gabriel smirked at her, adjusted his tie one last time, then turned on his heel and swept down the ramp, seemingly determined to be mysterious. 

Siobhan had most certainly been correct about the suit, but Una had absolutely no intention of letting her know that.

Shaking her head, she got back to work. With the hatch sealed behind Gabriel, she opened a secure channel, tapping a finger against the arm of her seat while she waited for the connection to take. 

When Amanda answered, it was with a broad smile, lit by the early morning sun through the slatted windows of her study. She wore a deep blue dress, trimmed with sparkling silver braid, her hair as always immaculately piled high in intricate coils and tendrils.

_ "Sarek left this morning on Council business, I'm afraid—" _

"I was hoping to speak to you, as a matter of fact.” Amanda looked a little surprised at that. "Is this a bad time?"

_ "Hm? Of course not."  _ Una decided not to ask whether Amanda always rattled around that house dressed like she was ready for the opera at - she glanced at the chrono, parsing the time difference - 06:43. 

"Section 31." Amanda really did look surprised, now. "What makes you so sure they're the ones behind the breaches?"

_ "They're the most likely suspects. Who else would even know to look for us?” _

Una frowned.

“I spent the last month infiltrating one of their installations, and I found no evidence that they have any idea where our strikes are coming from,” she said, shaking her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

_ “Like you said - that was just one of their installations. We have no way of knowing what else they’re working on.” _

“True,” Una murmured, but she couldn’t shift her doubt. “Would you send me your data on the attacks? If someone is coming after us, I’d like to know what we’re up against.”

_ “Of course.” _ Amanda subjected her to a questioning look.  _ “Is that all that’s bothering you?” _

_ Not even close,  _ Una thought. 

The feeling had been brewing since leaving Vulcan. She might not want this mission, but she had reservations enough about it without dragging someone else into it too. 

“I recommend that we pull Gabriel from the mission. I can handle it from here.”

Amanda’s brow furrowed. 

_ "I thought you liked Gabriel. Your last report on his work was highly complimentary." _

"I believe I described him as 'competent'," Una corrected her.

_ "Exactly. I can't remember the last time you were so effusive. Sarek very nearly asked you to tone down the colourful language."  _ Amanda tilted her head. _ "Do you have some - concern about him you haven't disclosed?" _

Una pressed her lips together. 

It was easy to underestimate Amanda. She was so charming and disarming that it was possible to forget that she was every bit Sarek's match. Maybe more than his match, because she had the element of surprise.

Amanda knew very well that there was no problem with Gabriel's suitability for field work, because as his handler, Una had made damn sure he was ready for it; so now her options were to find some minor objection to him that would call her own work into question, or admit that he wasn't the real problem here.

And Una … did not want to think about the real problem, much less discuss it.

Well played.

“There are more efficient uses of our resources,” said Una. 

_ “I disagree. You spent years trying to recruit Gabriel for exactly this sort of job. I think this is the best possible use of our resources.” _

Damn it. She was running out of moves.

_ “Una,”  _ Amanda said, in a gentle tone that immediately got her defences up.  _ “You don’t have to take everything on your own shoulders.” _

Una stiffened.

“I didn’t ask for help.”

_ “You never do.”  _ Amanda’s eyes shimmered with worry, and Una blinked and looked away.  _ “Besides,”  _ she added, suddenly businesslike again,  _ “you’ve already pointed out how dangerous this mission could be. You’re heading into uncharted space, with Section 31 on your tail. Even you can’t be on watch twenty-four hours a day. It’s not a negotiation. This is a two-person job. Gabriel stays. And so do you.” _

Una was starting to realise what a grave tactical error she’d made. If she’d called Sarek, she might have been able to logic him into a corner of his own making. But underneath those pearly fabrics, Amanda had a core of steel. There would be no changing her mind.

Defeated, Una’s shoulders slumped. 

“Fine. Just this once. Then no more partners.”

_ “If the mission is a success, once might be all we need.” _

_ Let’s hope so,  _ Una thought as she ended the transmission. 

*

Every time Gabriel visited Xahea’s main city, it felt a little different. Which he supposed it was. It wasn’t so much that buildings were constructed; they were  _ grown.  _ The buildings were the trees, the trees were the buildings - it was impossible to tell where one concept ended and the next began. A block he remembered from his last trip now had another three floors, towering over its neighbours. A little further on, a patch of land had been roped off, a group of workers testing soil samples and rigging up irrigation systems; when Gabriel drew closer, following his chaperone, he could make out the first few, bulbous shoots of a new dwelling poking out of the earth. 

A human could get drunk on the air here. It was crisp and clean, the smell of the trees infusing every atom of it - cool, almost minty, it got deep into your lungs, made your chest feel bigger with every breath. After the damp of Dj’reek and the sandy rasp of Vulcan, it tasted like heaven. 

Gabriel liked Xahea. He liked Xaheans, come to that - the ones he’d met, at least, were practical, no-nonsense and direct, and none more so than Her Highness Me Hani Ika Hali Ka Just-Call-Me-Po. He wondered how much of her personality had infused through her people; she’d tried to explain, once, how they were all linked to their planet in far more than a metaphorical or even spiritual sense, but it had made his head spin. Still, he guessed, if they were all connected, with Po at the centre of it all … it was possible that she had more influence than most monarchs. 

Characteristically, when Gabriel reached her private offices, Po wasted no time on small talk. 

“What did you bring?” she asked, lighting on the box he was carrying the second her secretary left. 

“Pistachio, your highness,” he replied, as she tore off the lid to take a sniff. He paused, suddenly worried. “Uh. It’s a type of nut, I think. You’re not allergic, are you?”

“Only one way to find out,” Po said cheerily, and practically inhaled half a scoop of the ice cream before Gabriel could point out that, actually, there were plenty of ways to check whether she had an allergy that  _ didn’t  _ involve him unintentionally poisoning a monarch. She seemed perfectly content, though, pupils dilating while she took in the flavour.

“Verdict?” Gabriel asked, once he was reasonably sure that he hadn’t committed regicide. Eyes held wide, she blinked her vertical inner eyelids a few times in rapid succession as she made up her mind.

“Top five,” she said, decisive. “But still not better than chocolate.”

“I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Engrossed in the ice cream, Po nodded, gesturing with her spoon for him to follow her, walking towards an apparently solid wall. At her approach, a door that hadn’t been there just a moment before opened, parting like a curtain to reveal another room beyond. Gabriel stepped through after her, stooping to avoid hitting his head on the low clearance, and the door sealed itself behind them, the wall simply - healing over as though it had never been there at all. That had been unsettling to say the least on Gabriel’s first visit; now, his main problem was remembering where the exit was afterwards, so he didn’t make a fool of himself by trying to walk through a wall that really was a wall. 

Xahea. He really did like it here.

“So. Amanda and Sarek want you to destroy more of my inventions.”

“Your inventions have a habit of doing that to themselves, your highness,” Gabriel replied, looking around with interest at the workbenches of Po’s lab, bathed in the dappled sunlight that broke through the leaves outside the windows. The space, like much of Xahea, never seemed to be in the same configuration twice - the last time he’d been here, there had been some great contraption hanging suspended from the ceiling; today, it was gone, but it had been replaced by seemingly dozens more half-finished gadgets scattered over almost every surface, the purpose of which Gabriel could only guess at. It was a wonder that she found any time to rule at all. 

“I blame user error,” Po said, pointedly, and as he watched, she captured a few droplets of the remaining ice cream in a pipette, adding them to a device which lit up and spun. “What?” she said, catching his expression, as the screen next to her burst into life in a flurry of Xahean script. “The Federation can’t keep  _ all  _ its secrets.”

“Have you been tricking me into breaking the Prime Directive all this time?” Gabriel asked archly. 

“Pfft. We’re far more advanced than you.”

“And soon you’ll master ice cream, too. Xahea will be unstoppable.”

She looked decidedly pleased at that.

_ “Speaking  _ of advanced civilisations…” She whirled around, snatching up a tablet seemingly at random from a nearby bench. “I looked over Amanda’s research. It’s  _ wild.” _

“Have you ever come across them before? Our new friends?”

Po pulled a face.

“Unlike your Federation, Xahea isn’t obsessed with expansion, so … no. Never heard of them.”

“You do remember that the ‘Federation diplomat’ thing is just a cover, right?” Gabriel asked. “Only this is starting to feel a little personal.”

“I most certainly do. The  _ real  _ Federation diplomats bring me  _ four  _ scoops.”

“Oh,  _ now  _ I see.”

A very un-regal wink was bestowed upon Gabriel, before Po turned back to her tablet.

“If Amanda’s right - and she usually is - these people are like nothing I’ve ever heard of. And as for their tech...” She looked at him, sceptical. “Do you really think you can pull this off?”

“It’s risky. But Amanda and Sarek think it’s possible.”

“And Una?” 

“And Una what?”

“Does she agree with them?”

“Of course she…” Gabriel frowned. Since leaving Vulcan, Una hadn’t said much about the mission at all. She’d agreed to it, sure - they wouldn’t have been there if she didn’t. But agreement, of course, didn’t necessarily mean the same as unbridled enthusiasm. “I’m sure she does,” he finished, instead. 

“Good,” said Po, firmly. “Because anything that finally tells the world about Tilly is alright by me.” She flashed him a brittle smile, apparently embarrassed by the outburst, and Gabriel was suddenly reminded of how young she was, queen or not, to have to carry a secret like this. _ “But,”  _ she added, rallying, “you won’t get very far at all without… this.”

Po swept a cover from a workbench with some aplomb. 

Beneath was a long device, set on a tripod, roughly the same size as a pattern enhancer, but with the same mix of sleek tech and organic components that made up everything on Xahea. 

“Very nice,” Gabriel commented, since some sort of response seemed to be necessary.

“You don’t know what it is, do you.”

“I’m going to need you to remember you’re addressing an inferior species here.”

Po grinned. Claws clicking, she tapped a few commands on a nearby screen, and the upper section of the device fanned out like one of the blooms on the walls of the palace. Gabriel found himself at eye-level with its glowing centre, and leaned back a little, just in case. 

“It’s a subspace relay. Essentially. The telepathic waves on NG-323 seem to emanate from one central transmitter on the planet’s surface. Now, you can’t land there without getting fried either by their atmosphere or their planetary defence system—”

“Reassuring.”

“—so to avoid that problem, you’re going to place this on their second moon.”

“Less hazardous?”

“Less well-defended. Still hazardous.”

“Oh, that’s fine then.”

“I’ve extrapolated the most effective coordinates, based on Amanda’s scans of the region,” Po continued, ignoring his sarcasm. “There are a series of caves on the moon that will act as an amplifier for the relay’s carrier waves…”

Gabriel knew better than to interrupt an engineer mid-flow; that counted double when the engineer in question was queen of an entire planet. He applied himself to trying to memorise, rather than understand the science, trusting that Una would be able to work it all out later. It wasn’t like he had anything to contribute to the conversation anyway - if the combined intellect of Amanda, Sarek and Una still had to outsource the design of this device to Po, he didn’t stand a chance. 

“The relay will need to be programmed to the shuttle - like a key. You can then trigger it safely from orbit and broadcast your message,” Po summarised.

“We’ll be able to talk to the whole planet?”

“Theoretically.”

Gabriel whistled.

“Hell of a first contact.”

“No point in half-assing things.”

“Yeah, maybe ... don’t tell Amanda I taught you that phrase.”

Gabriel tilted his head, considering the device.

“You can’t just - scale this up?” he asked. “Could we use this to transmit the message about  _ Discovery  _ to the Federation?” 

“I’m flattered, but no. All this can do is translate the signal used by the planet’s transmitter into something that the systems on Una’s shuttle can actually use, and vice versa. My best understanding of NG-323’s system is that the planet’s geology acts as a kind of - psychic reverberation chamber. Which is why the moon is your best shot - same geologic composition. So - head there, deploy the relay, send your message. After that, it’s up to you two.”

Po powered the device down again, and it folded back in on itself, compacting down until it was little more than the length of Gabriel’s forearm. 

“Good luck,” she said, holding it out to him.

“Thanks.”

_ Let’s go tell the world about Tilly,  _ Gabriel thought.

He stowed it safely in his bag, but when he next looked up, Po was on the move again.

"Oh - I had something else for you, too."

Gabriel squinted at the - thing she deposited into his hand. It was cylindrical, the base fitting snugly in his palm, and surprisingly heavy for its size, made of a material so dark that it seemed to swallow all the light that dared to touch it. But it appeared, so far as he could tell, to be entirely inert. Other than that, he had nothing.

"Just what I always wanted," he said, baffled.

"Amanda mentioned that you might have to deal with some … unwanted attention. Thought this might help."

“What is it?” he asked, hefting it suspiciously. 

“Cloaking device.”

“Experimental?”

“Of course.”

“Does it work?”

“Have I ever given you anything that  _ doesn’t  _ work?” Po retorted, folding her arms.

“Exploding tricorder,” Gabriel intoned.

Po frowned.

"I've never made you an exploding tricorder."

"I've got tinnitus that says otherwise," Gabriel said, but grinned at her. “Alright. So what does it do?”

“It turns you invisible,” Po deadpanned, translating from Genius to Gabriel. 

“Oh, a  _ cloaking  _ device," he played along. "Sounds great. What’s the catch?” Po’s slow blink was eloquent. “It explodes. Of course.” 

"Only possibly. But you  _ will  _ be invisible at the time,” she added, helpfully. “And I’d only put the chances of the explosion causing a major systems failure at around 70%. 75%, tops.”

“Oh good.” Taking his life in his own hands, Gabriel placed it in the bag, and froze as it clunked against the relay, only relaxing once he was certain that nothing had started smoking. 

"Anything else? I've been working on an improved phaser design, if you're interested—"

"I'll pass. Thanks." He raised an eyebrow at her. “So. Four scoops, next time?”

“I  _ knew _ I liked you.”

Back at the docks, Una was sat on the ground, leaning against the  _ Minerva  _ with her hands folded behind her head and her long legs stretched out in front of her, taking in the fresh air. The sun caught her hair, sending warm tones glowing through it he hadn't realised were there.

“Did you bring me a souvenir?” she asked, opening one eye lazily before clambering to her feet to help him with the bag. 

“Two, in fact.” At Una’s quizzical expression, he added, “It’s only  _ probably  _ dangerous.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Her tone was as dry as Vulcan, but she held the bag with rather more care than before.

“I’m just a generous kind of guy.” Gabriel grinned at her and jerked his chin towards the hatch. “Shall we?”

*

_ “Computer, replay footage,” he murmured again. _

_ It had taken hours of careful review since tracking the subspace signal from that encrypted transmission, and even so, all he had to show for his efforts were a few seconds of grainy video from the Xahean docks. But he had found them. The Network’s operatives for this mission. _

_ “Computer, freeze.” _

_ The stream paused. A human male and female, heads together in close conversation.  _

_ “Enhance. Full magnification.” _

_ The computer zoned in on the pair, cleaning up some of the noise in the image, bringing their features into sharper relief.  _

_ He exhaled slowly.  _

_ Now  _ there  _ was a face he had not expected to see again. Older, yes, but unmistakable. _

_ The discovery, and the thrill of recognition, unsettled him more than he cared to admit.  _

_ Still. He knew what he was up against, now. He could amend his tactics accordingly. _

_ His objective remained the same. Stop Sarek and Amanda. Stop the Network. Protect the secret.  _

_ This changed nothing. _


	4. Evasive Manoeuvres

“Towel!”

Una listened out for Gabriel’s acknowledgement before striding the short distance between the bathroom and her cabin. 

They’d devised the shorthand to spare his blushes and her exasperation. Gabriel was chivalrous to the point of mild insult; most of the time he behaved as though an accidental glimpse of her bare shoulder above a towel would strike him down dead. He’d practically worn a hole in the bulkheads from staring at them on the way to Xahea, presumably in case her ankles turned him to stone. 

A policy of polite professional detachment had seemed to Una to be a perfectly adequate solution to the problem. Una was  _ good  _ at professional. Unlike Gabriel, she was entirely capable of keeping her cool even in the face of an ambush by a pair of freckled shoulders at close range. Case in point: mission day five, 19:48. Upon exiting the kitchen, Una had walked straight into a wall of slightly-damp Gabriel, who had leapt almost out of his freshly-washed skin and only just managed to hold on to his towel. It had been difficult to avoid looking while they tried to work out who should step in which direction to bring the encounter to as swift an end as possible before Gabriel’s ears could turn an even more alarming shade of pink. But she might not have looked at all, if it hadn’t been for his scars. 

She’d known about the scars on his hands, of course; it was hard to miss them. But he tended to wear long sleeves, and it simply hadn’t occurred to her how extensive they might be. They wove in pale lines all the way from the tips of his fingers, up the length of his arms and across the upper part of his chest, converging in a cluster just above his heart. At which point Una had realised that not only was she staring at her colleague’s scars, which was rude in the extreme, but also, by unfortunate extension, his chest, which rather stretched the definition of professional detachment. 

The shorthand had been agreed not long after that, but Una hadn’t been able to stop wondering what could possibly have caused injuries like that, with such unique patterns. They put her in mind of - forks of lightning, perhaps. Or a map. Whatever it was, it was likely consistent with the kind of trauma that meant he startled easily. She had made a mental note of that and determined to amend her behaviour accordingly. 

You never had problems like these when you worked solo. 

And speaking of solos - she had been several bars into  _ Little Buttercup _ before she'd caught herself the other night. She would have to be more careful in future, forgo the acoustics in the bathroom until the mission was through and she had her space to herself again. It was either that, or she'd have to explain to Amanda and Sarek why Gabriel needed to be assigned to a new handler, a frankly unacceptable prospect. 

No more singing until he was gone. And then no more mission partners, ever again.

She let the door of her cabin slide shut behind her, set it to privacy, and breathed out.

“Computer, resume playback.”

Una had never quite broken out of the habit of ensuring that, at all times, she was dressed enough to handle any emergency that might befall a vessel -  _ a commanding officer should never get caught with their pants down,  _ Chris had always said. He’d mostly said it in entirely unsubtle attempts to get a rise out of her, of course, which she had staunchly refused to provide. But it had turned out to be a motto that had held her in good stead during many an unexpected encounter on the  _ Minerva.  _ And so, humming along - quietly - she tossed the towel on her bed and pulled a fresh set of clothes from the wardrobe. 

She was aware that there was an argument that said that the whole point of agreeing a shift system with Gabriel was so that  _ he  _ could handle any unexpected encounters while she got a decent eight hours, but it sounded wildly unlikely. 

So. Pants, tank top, and a good dose of rationality.

Una knew all about the many and contradictory stories about her; in fact, she’d started a fair few of them herself. It was a tactic that had served her well through the Academy, on every commission, through command, and even now, in this unexpected chapter of her career. Keeping people guessing was useful, and besides, it seemed to satisfy their need to know every single detail of their shipmates’ inner lives. There was little enough privacy on a starship; Una had become adept at protecting what she had left. 

All of those accounts had contained a grain of truth, just enough plausibility to be believable, and then it had been a simple case of letting the scuttlebutt mill do the rest of the work for her. A near-eidetic memory helped; the ability to hold all the disparate threads she had woven at the same time and pull on whichever strand suited the occasion best, be whoever she was required to be at that moment. But the most egregious bit of artistic licence in all of those stories was that she was always calm, and that she always knew exactly what to do. She’d been happy to allow that misconception to persist, even played into it; after all, there was no harm in a commander projecting that kind of image to their subordinates. It was a lie that, repeated often enough, she had almost come to believe herself.

Right now, though, Una was more aware of the weight of that lie than usual. 

It wasn’t that what they were planning to do was illegal. When your starting point was treason, everything else simply became a matter of scale. Breaking first contact protocols, causing a major diplomatic headache - none of it was going to get them into any more trouble than they were already in, if they were caught. 

_ “To sit in solemn silence in a dull, dark dock, _

_ In a pestilential prison with a life-long lock—" _

"Computer, skip track," she scowled. "To something a little less on the nose, please."

_ "Working." _

Their work was inherently risky. She’d made her peace with that fact a long time ago. It was the reason she took the most dangerous missions on herself; she understood the cost of their work, and accepted it as a fair price for what was at stake. And she would rather she paid that price than anyone else. The rest of the Network had something else to lose. Po had her planet, Siobhan had her work, Sarek and Amanda had their family and their reputation - even Gabriel had the life he’d been trying to rebuild, quiet and small though it might have been, when they’d come crashing into his orbit. 

And now she was asking him to risk that, for a mission that she didn’t entirely believe in herself.

No. That wasn’t quite right. This mission had the potential to change everything. There was no denying it. If they were successful, the Network would have a reach they could scarcely have imagined. The technology that awaited them on NG-323 was like nothing they’d even seen. And that was the problem. 

They were dealing with something far beyond their understanding. A civilisation with the kind of power this one possessed - the power to tear through minds, the power to broadcast thoughts across vast distances - what was to stop them from using that power against the Network? To control them, just like— 

An eidetic memory had its drawbacks, of course. Una shook herself, frustrated. 

The mission was skirting too close to - things she would rather have forgotten. That was all. It would have been unpleasant enough without the added complication of a partner. She liked Gabriel - in spite of his prickliness, his tendency to believe that he knew best, and the fact that, whatever his protestations to the contrary, he seemed to court drama - but the last thing she needed right now was an audience. 

What she  _ needed _ was peace and quiet, a good night’s sleep, and for this mission to be just another memory to add to the banks. 

Hours later, though, unable to get comfortable, and unable to keep her mind from racing, Una stared at the ceiling, wide awake and defeated. 

She sighed and pulled on a jacket.

*

The helm was bathed in a low, warm light for the night cycle. All was quiet, except for the steady, ever-present blip of the scanners, the hum of the engines, and the scratch of Gabriel’s stylus on his PADD as he bothered out the same crossword clue he’d been working on for the last twenty minutes, the furrow between his brows as deep as his concentration. 

His latest effort flashed red and disappeared, leaving him right back where he’d started. Beaten, he scowled and stashed the PADD in the nets again. 

He’d stick to fortune cookie riddles. 

_ “Warning,”  _ the  _ Minerva’s  _ computer said, in a tone deliberately programmed to avoid causing alarm.  _ “You are now leaving Federation space. Navigation systems may function at suboptimal levels beyond this point. Do you wish to continue?” _

Gabriel confirmed the coordinates and eased down to impulse engines, increasing sensor range just to be on the safe side. It paid to be cautious, in uncharted space. No way of knowing whether you'd drop out of warp and straight into a gravity well.

Through the fore window, the first few spots of unknown stars broke through the black. 

He powered down the viewscreen. He didn’t want computer displays obscuring this. Sure, he could enhance the view using the sensors, but it was never really the same as seeing it for yourself.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled up as a shiver ran through him.

One day, this might get old. But apparently that wasn't today.

Impatient for more, he spun around his seat and hauled himself up, crossing to the little observation window in the living space and leaning on the rail, his face close to the glass. In the far distance, he could just make out the hazy shimmer of a nebula that might never have been seen by human eyes before. A whole new system to explore.

Maybe he should ping a message to Una. She'd want to see this too—

Behind him, as if she'd heard his thoughts, Una cleared her throat softly. When he turned, she held out a mug.

“Coffee?” 

Accepting it with a sheepish grin at being caught neglecting his post, Gabriel shuffled over so that she could take up a spot on the other side of the window from him. 

He appreciated that she did that. The not-sneaking-up-on-him-thing, not the coffee, though he appreciated that too, this late into a night shift. He was pretty sure that he’d never mentioned that sudden sounds or movements could be … challenging for him, these days. But she seemed to know all the same, and had been careful for the most part to make sure she didn’t make him jump, even up here, where it was just the two of them and the stars in a vessel so small that it should have been impossible to sneak up on someone in the first place.

If he was being honest, he’d got used to the sound of her. Footsteps in the corridor, six paces to the bathroom and back again, clattering in the kitchen, the scratch of her stylus on a puzzle, or the sound of tools as she tinkered with yet another system somewhere on the shuttle, a constant, reassuring presence in the background. 

He could have sworn he’d heard singing, too, one morning, but he must have imagined it. He couldn’t think of anyone less likely than Una to sing in the shower. Or to sing at all, in fact.

Her jacket was undone, apparently the one concession she made to the fact that she was off-duty, but otherwise she looked exactly the same as she always did; like she was ready for anything. Even her hair was perfect, corralled into - whatever that style was called, half-up, half down, all twisted up at the back, that one white streak drawn back and out of her face.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“I didn’t even try.” 

“I never could, either,” Gabriel said. “Not the night before a big mission.”

“Oh, I’m not nervous. I’m just making effective use of time. There’s a lot left to prepare before we arrive.”

Bullshit was the first thing you had to learn to spot if you wanted to make the captain’s chair. Gabriel might have been a long time out of it, but the instinct was well-honed. Everything was prepared. Una’s calculations for the final stages of the mission were perfect. They always were. But the tilt of her chin indicated that she would brook no argument on this point. 

Gabriel had always told his crew that anyone who claimed not to be worried on the eve of a mission like this was either a liar, or a fool. And Una was no fool.

“Course not.” He brought his mug to his lips, keeping his eyes carefully on the unfamiliar constellations beyond the window.  _ “I’m  _ nervous.”

In the reflection, he saw her eyes dart towards him.

“You are?”

“First contact mission? Damn right I’m nervous. Feel like a green recruit.”

Una tapped a glittering nail at the side of her mug, thoughtful.

“It never really goes away, does it?” she said, quietly.

It was probably the closest Gabriel would get to hearing Una admit he was right. He knew better than to crow about it.

“Never thought I’d feel it again,” he said, instead. 

“You’re welcome, I suppose.”

Gabriel smiled.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Angling for a better vantage, Una leaned closer to the window, and the stars caught the shine of her nail polish and set it sparkling. In the starlight, a little of the tension she carried seemed to melt away, the usually hard lines of her features softening in a way he hadn’t seen before. 

“That certainly is something,” she said, almost reverently. 

Gabriel dragged his gaze back to the view. 

“Sure is.” 

They drank in silence a while, looking out on the stars.

“So. How many first contact missions did you lead?” Una asked at last, her hands wrapped around her mug. “Back in the ‘Fleet?”

“Four,” replied Gabriel, proud. It was a respectable total. Practically one for every year of his captaincy. “And one ‘possible’. Never did find out whether that damn cloud counted. You?”

Una blew at her coffee to cool it down before answering, and didn’t meet his eye when she spoke.

“A little more than four.” 

Of course. Of  _ course  _ it was. 

“So … five?” Gabriel tried. 

“Four is impressive,” Una said, hastily. “Most people never even get one—”

“Six?”

“I really can’t remember.”

_ “More than six?” _

Una’s non-committal noise was enough to convince him that it was definitely more than six. Possibly even more than ten. Damn. 

Clearly his experience of Starfleet had … not been universal.

Gabriel had a sudden and inexplicable urge to casually mention that he had  _ technically  _ discovered a whole parallel universe, and only just managed to suppress it. 

It occurred to him, though, that if Una really had been as prolific as he was starting to think she might have been, then the thought of a first contact mission was unlikely to be the real reason she was awake at this kind of time. Whatever it was, he didn’t like his chances of persuading her to open up about it, given that he’d barely managed to get her to admit that she couldn’t sleep in the first place. All pushing the point was likely to achieve was to make her withdraw even further. 

The second thing you learned on the way to the captain’s chair was to spot when a tactical retreat was the best option.

“Look, you don’t have to spare my blushes,” he said, leaning against the bulkhead in an approximation of nonchalance. “Just tell me - are we talking fewer than twenty, or—?”

The computer chirped with that weirdly old-fashioned sound, granting Gabriel a stay of execution and summoning him to do some actual work at the same time.

“That’s the asteroid belt,” he reported, squinting at the readings. “Right where Amanda said it would be.”

“She’s usually correct.” 

Gabriel frowned and tapped the display, pursing his lips. The belt lay directly between them and their coordinates. Not that it was possible to tell, from the tangle of scans on the screen. “Sensors are already picking up interference. That field is where comm signals go to die.”

“That seems somewhat melodramatic.” 

Una set her mug down on the table on her way to the helm, leaning over him to take a look at the analysis. She raised an eyebrow, then raised it some more. Every time Gabriel thought he’d seen it reach its peak, she managed to lift it a little higher. She seemed to be going for a new personal best.

“But not inaccurate,” she admitted.

“It’s like a sinkhole. Signals go in, nothing comes out.”

“It’s certainly inconvenient.” She straightened back up, brushing against his arm as she went, and considered the problem. “We’ll have to go around it.”

“You mean you  _ don’t _ want to fly straight into the deadly rock soup?” Gabriel teased.

Una fixed him with a stern look. This close, it was a sight to behold, even in the low light. Gabriel had a sudden, vivid sense of what she must have been like on the bridge of the  _ Enterprise _ on all forty-seven thousand of her first contact missions. It was all he could do to keep from snapping to attention.

“I could pilot us through it," she said, calmly. "It would hardly be straightforward with no nav systems, no comms, no sensors and no back up, but I’ve handled worse. However,  _ technically _ , it’s your shift.”

Gabriel swallowed. He wasn't sure whether the thought of piloting blind through an asteroid field in uncharted space was more or less terrifying than the thought of facing Una after he'd broken her shuttle by piloting blind through an asteroid field in uncharted space, but he pretended to think about it all the same.

Then he noticed the glint in her eye, the slight upwards tug in the corner of her lips, and realised that she was … joking? Did Una joke? He was going to have to reassess everything he’d thought he’d worked out about her. 

“You know what, ‘around’ sounds just fine to me.” He nodded over her shoulder, towards the living space. “Coffee’s getting cold.”

Una perched on the edge of the table, while Gabriel reclaimed his mug and his station by the window, looking out into the black. 

“Do you miss it?” she asked quietly. “Starfleet?”

It was a complicated question. An even more complicated answer. Gabriel frowned, trying to come up with the words to give it the weight it deserved.

“It was - everything to me,” he said at last. “Until I realised that the feeling wasn’t mutual.” He rubbed at his beard. “But I miss what it was. What I thought it was.”

“And what was that?”

“A family.” The honesty of the words and the wave of grief that accompanied them took Gabriel aback, and he stared down at his mug to avoid having to work out what to do with his face. “What about you?” he asked, only too keen to move on. “You miss it?”

“I don’t miss starship life. I’ve grown rather too accustomed to having my own space.”

Gabriel noticed her deflection, but decided against pursuing it.

“And now you’re stuck with me in it,” he said instead. “Sorry about that.”

“You’ve not been an - entirely terrible guest.”

“Coming from you, that’s practically a compliment.” 

“Coming from me, that  _ is _ a compliment.” Una shook her head. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I resigned my commission. Yours was taken away from you. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

Detaching himself from the wall, Gabriel moved to sit on the table next to Una.

“Did you want to leave the ‘Fleet?” he asked, looking sidelong at her.

“My position had become untenable—”

“Yeah, sure, but - did you  _ want _ to leave?”

Something seemed to shift in Una’s expression. Soften, maybe.

“Not for a second,” she whispered.

Gabriel nodded.

“Then you know exactly what it felt like,” he said. “Your choice wasn’t a real choice. I’m sorry you were forced to make it.”

Una blinked, surprised, like no-one had ever said that to her before.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. 

He expected her to look away after that, break off and change the subject, but their eyes locked, holding together through a long moment that stretched out between them and snapped taut. 

Gabriel was almost relieved when the computer chirped again. So was Una, judging by the speed with which she launched herself from the table to check on it. 

“We’ve got a problem.” Her tone was serious, and Gabriel set his mug aside immediately to join her at the conn.

“What kind of problem?”

She moved so that he could see the display. 

“Nothing showing on standard scans. But we’re picking up delta particles in our wake, and analysis of spatial turbulence indicates another vessel not far from here.”

Gabriel tensed.

“Section 31?”

“I think we’re being followed,” was all she said. “And they’re gaining on us.” 


	5. A Smattering of Elemental Strategy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologise about the delay in posting this chapter. Let's just say I'm starting to understand why 'may you live in interesting times' is supposed to be a curse.
> 
> Thanks for your patience, and without any further ado...

Una was starting to believe that Gabriel had a frown for every occasion. She had been making a study of them over the last few days and was building up quite the catalogue. The one playing out across his face now, as he powered the viewscreen back up, eyes alight, darting over the data, was his ‘intense concentration’ frown. 

“Got ‘em,” he said, tracking the source of the turbulence to a patch of apparently dead space and transferring the data to her screen. “Looks like they’re running some kind of cloak.”

Looking over the data, Una could only concur. The patterns of disturbance were far too neat and precise to be caused by anything natural. Which meant that someone was out there; someone who didn’t want to be seen, who had been on their tail for an unspecified amount of time, for unspecified motives. 

Una suspected that they weren’t here to welcome them to the system, though.

“Odds that we’re being followed through uncharted space by a cloaked vessel for completely fine and normal reasons?” Gabriel asked, as if he’d heard her thoughts, rubbing his beard.

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t advise placing any bets.”

“You know, I’d call myself a gambling man, but I think you’re right. Alright: shields up, let’s get out of here—”

Gabriel’s shoulders stiffened as he seemed to feel, rather than see the eyebrow that Una raised.

“Sorry,” he said. “Force of habit. Your shuttle.”

“My mission, too,” Una reminded him. “But - I agree. Shields up. We’re getting out of here.”

Gabriel grinned.

“Aye, sir.”

As he dropped into the seat beside her and buckled in, Una stretched out her fingers. It had been a while since her last chase. Of course, she usually preferred to be the one _doing_ the chasing.

Still. She’d been looking for an excuse to test her engines to their full potential.

The _Minerva_ leapt forward at her signal.

“Keep an eye on that turbulence,” Una said tightly, hands dancing across the helm. “Let me know the second anything changes.”

“You got it.”

Half impulse. Three-quarter impulse. Full impulse. Nothing. 

There was still a chance, of course, that nothing was exactly what this was. Just a coincidence after all. That this was a decision borne of insomnia. That she was burning dilithium out of paranoia. That just because _they_ were here on a covert mission, she was presuming the worst of every passing ship—

“Turbulence is increasing,” Gabriel said at last, which left her feeling vindicated. “Our shadow is definitely accelerating.”

“Good. So are we.”

Una fired thrusters, and felt a surge of pride that almost matched the burst of speed they put on.

“Huh.” Gabriel’s tone, as he stared at his screen, was somewhat deflating.

“Would you care to expand on that?”

“Shadow has dropped their cloak and is closing the gap. Looks like that thing was a drain on their power. So, bad news, there’s nothing holding them back now.”

“And the good news?”

“At least we can see them?”

A short, impatient noise escaped Una. She banked sharply, hoping to shake them off with a sudden change of tack. 

“I’m going to need more to work with than that—”

“Already on it. Scans are coming in now.” Gabriel's face was lit by the blue screen in front of him. He brought up a tactical display on one side of the viewscreen. “Shadow is a small long-range shuttle. No registry I can get a hold of. Photon torpedoes _and_ phasers - overkill on a boat that size. Someone’s clearly overcompensating for something.”

“That’s your professional opinion?” Una asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“You don’t want the unprofessional version. Weapons are cold, though. And I’m not reading any counter-scans.”

That, at least, was a relief. Aft readings showed their shadow was still close on their tail. If they decided to fire up weapons now, there was nothing but a few klicks of open space between the _Minerva_ and a direct hit.

“Bio-readings?” Una asked.

Gabriel shook his head, frustrated.

“If I get too close, they block me. But it’s not a big vessel - assuming they’re humanoid, crew of two, no more than three.”

Despite his easy tone, Gabriel seemed sharper all of a sudden. More focussed. The tapping of his foot on the floor or his fingers on the arm of his chair had been a near constant metronome on this mission. It had stopped, now.

He was in his element.

“Analysis?” 

“They’re happy to show off their guns, but they don’t want us to see their faces. They want to intimidate us. They’re assholes,” Gabriel summarised. 

It was a little ineloquent, but Una had to concede it was a succinct assessment. 

Their shadow was living up to their name. Every turn Una made, there they were, matching her for pace and trajectory, like they were locked in some kind of bizarre dance.

“They’re also good,” Gabriel murmured. 

“Very reassuring. Thank you for your input.”

“Hey. You’re better.” He glanced across at her. “Right?”

Una sucked in a breath. It was impossible. Everything that she threw at them, they parried away. It was almost as though they could read her mind—

She shook away that thought. 

_Focus._ There was no clear route back to Federation space, and no cover for thousands of klicks - nothing except that damn asteroid field, which was already screwing with long-range sensors. Una didn’t want to find out what would happen if they got any closer. This would come down to who tired first. In a sprint, Una would have backed the _Minerva._ But if Gabriel was right, and their shadow had diverted the energy they’d been expending on that cloak elsewhere—

Una throttled up. 

“I need to put some distance between us,” she said. “Target their engines and fire aft phasers. Slow them down.”

"On it." Gabriel's hands were a blur across the controls. "Target locked. I’ve got a clean shot."

"You have the floor. Fire at will."

The tactical display lit up. Weapons charged. Engaged. 

Nothing happened.

"Gabriel?" Una asked.

He sat back sharply, hands bunched into fists on his lap, all hint of his former keenness suddenly gone.

“Gabriel—”

“They haven’t fired a single shot yet. You really want to draw Section 31 into a firefight?” 

_I want to survive this encounter long enough to remind you who’s in charge here,_ Una thought.

“We have to find a different way,” Gabriel insisted.

Starship captains. They were all the same. Always convinced they knew best—

This was _exactly_ why Una worked alone. 

It hardly mattered now. A debate about the chain of command would keep. In the time Gabriel had wasted, their shadow had read the energy surge from the _Minerva’s_ weapons powering up and was now dancing just outside of range. They’d missed their chance. 

They would have to try a different way after all. 

"You've been training to reapply for your solo pilot's license, correct?" Una asked.

"Correct," Gabriel replied, wrongfooted.

“When was the last time you reviewed evasive manoeuvres?”

His ‘worried’ frown spoke volumes. 

“Not exactly been a priority,” he said.

Not exactly reassuring. But as with everything else on this mission, Una was left with very little in the way of alternatives.

“Then you’re having a lesson now.” She reached across to tap a series of commands, eyes still locked straight ahead. “I’m transferring controls to your station. Take the helm.”

He gawped at her.

“Take the…”

"Ah. Yes, I see how that was imprecise. I meant take the helm _now,_ Gabriel."

Una had not reached the heights she had achieved in her career without being able to hold her own against recalcitrant smartasses, but all the same she was relieved when this one accepted the controls without further argument, saving them precious seconds.

"You're actually trusting me with this?" Gabriel asked.

 _Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,_ Una thought.

"Follow my lead, and we'll be fine," she said instead. 

"What are you going to be doing?" 

"Working on a different way," she replied. "And navigating. And instructing you."

"That all?"

"I could perform the entire libretto of _HMS Pinafore_ at the same time, if you're underwhelmed."

"Now I know you're joking," he muttered, steeling himself at the controls. 

Una shook her head. It wasn't her fault if people chose not to believe her when she told them something true.

“Let’s try pattern gamma four.”

While Gabriel frowned his way through the manoeuvre - he turned too hard into it and had to pull up sharply to correct, but Una had to concede that she’d seen worse - she took the opportunity to deploy a virus that would jam their shadow’s navigation systems. Just a little something she’d been working on in her spare time. Amanda was always telling her it was important to have hobbies outside of work. 

Glancing down at her own screen, though, she realised that their shadow was still on a determined course towards them. They'd swatted away her virus like it was nothing.

“Not bad,” she said, doing her best to keep her irritation out of her voice. “Needs a little finessing. How about beta nine?”

Grimacing with concentration, Gabriel punched orders into the helm, while Una fired off a nasty little subspace package to scramble the other shuttle’s viewscreen with false signals. 

“Well?” Gabriel asked expectantly.

“Flawless,” Una admitted, tucking a flyaway bit of hair behind her ear. 

“Ha!”

“It was beta three, of course, but it _was_ flawless.”

“Oh, come on, you weren’t even watching—”

She was watching their shadow, though. And they had fallen back _._ Not by much, but compared to how closely they’d stuck to the _Minerva_ before, it was noticeable. 

_That_ was interesting. 

“We can comb over your flight stats later. For now, try delta seven.”

Gabriel growled in exasperation.

“I’m a - retired captain, not a helmsman!”

“Fine. You choose. But make it quick.”

As the stars on the viewscreen spun around yet again, Una forced herself not to overanalyse whatever it was Gabriel was trying to pull off (lambda seven with a dash of theta two? All she knew for sure was that she was going to have to overhaul the engines again after he was through with them). If she was right, then it didn’t really matter. In fact, it might even play to their advantage. 

“Just like riding a bike, huh?” Gabriel called, as the view righted itself.

“I hope you wear a helmet,” Una muttered.

“What?”

“Keep going!”

There it was again. Just a fraction of a hesitation from their shadow. They were distracted enough by Gabriel’s - unorthodox style that she could let loose another string of code unchallenged. 

The implications—

—would have to wait. Una’s display had sounded a warning. A huge energy surge was coming from their shadow. It seemed as though they had run out of patience. And she and Gabriel were about to run out of luck.

“Weapons?” Gabriel asked. 

“They’re readying a tractor beam,” Una breathed. “Options?”

“The way I see it” —the engines whined as Gabriel attempted another manoeuvre as yet unknown to any textbook— “we’ve still got three.”

“As many as that?” Una said sourly. “Do enlighten me.”

“One: we stop and say hi.”

So not as many as that, then.

“Absolutely not. Option two?”

“Try Po’s cloaking device.”

“Was that a seventy or a seventy-five percent chance of explosion?”

“She was vague.”

“Seventy-five percent, then. Also no. Three had better be good.”

“Option three…” 

Gabriel banked the shuttle hard to port, and opened the thrusters. 

The asteroid belt loomed on the viewscreen, growing larger as he accelerated.

“You will _not_ fly us into that,” Una said, aghast.

“Wasn’t planning to.” He risked taking his eyes off the screen for long enough to meet her gaze, his knuckles white on the helm. “That wasn’t exaggeration before, was it? About piloting through worse than this?”

Una _had_ piloted through worse. But not by a significant margin. And not since leaving the Fleet.

They were out of better options.

Performing rapid calculations, Una cast an eye over the already fluctuating readings. Their shadow was better armed, but the _Minerva_ was built for speed. If they could outrun them long enough to reach the field—

“I don’t exaggerate,” she said at last.

He nodded grimly.

“Stand by. Transferring helm control back to you—”

There was barely time to react, let alone accept the controls, before the first chunk of rock came out of nowhere, skimming their starboard side. The only reason it didn’t slice them open altogether was that there _was_ time, a nanosecond during which Una’s instincts kicked in. 

“What did gravimetric readings show about this belt?” she called.

“Nothing unusual—”

The speed of the rocks flying coming at them was anything but usual. They dodged another two, three asteroids, before one by one the _Minerva’s_ sensors began to fail entirely, cascading alarms sounding all around them.

“Shields holding,” Gabriel yelled over the din. “Navigation is - non-responsive. Switching to manual.”

All Una had to go by now were her own wits and the little she could make out directly ahead of them. Eyes darting between the rocks, she calculated speeds and trajectories, weaving in and out of danger, but the second she cleared one obstacle another appeared. The field was dense, and becoming more so the deeper they flew.

“We’ve lost them!” Gabriel crowed. “Shadow’s fallen back.”

“Wonderful.” She swerved a jagged lump the size of a house, passing close enough to make out the craters that pockmarked it. “I was just beginning to think that this was the worst plan I’d ever heard.”

“Honestly, still not even close.”

Una gritted her teeth to try and ease the rattling in her jaw. The sound kept going, and it took her a couple of seconds to realise that was because the whole shuttle was shaking. 

“Gonna clear us a path.” Gabriel called up weapons systems and took aim at a missile blazing like a comet towards their starboard bow, disintegrating it instantly.

 _Oh,_ now _he shoots—_

A spray of debris burst against the window, temporarily blotting out everything else, and by the time it cleared, it was too late to avoid the missiles on a collision course for their hull. 

Una cursed. The new paintwork on the _Minerva_ was still fresh—

“If you could refrain from blinding me in the process.” 

“Sorry—” 

They could have used this sniper-like focus from Gabriel a few minutes ago, Una reflected, watching him take out a series of asteroids in quick succession with nothing but manual targeting to guide him. The problem was, even at the speed he was firing, the relief was only temporary. If anything, the more of them he destroyed, the more seemed to take their place. The path ahead was becoming darker and darker as they went.

It was like the rocks were aiming for them—

Una’s eyes widened.

The rocks were aiming for them.

“Gabriel.”

His only response was to dispatch another rock, pinpointing the debris and blasting that too before it could reach the shuttle in a staccato salvo. 

A second’s glance away from the screen was already more than Una could spare, but in that flash she saw him, not just still but - taut beside her, expression blank. 

_“Gabriel!”_

He shook himself, and some of that energy, whatever it had been, seemed to dissipate.

“What?” he said, distantly. 

“Stop firing.”

_“What?”_

_“Stop firing!”_

Focussed as she was on the view ahead, Una still heard Gabriel’s intake of breath as he readied himself for another argument, followed by his irritated huff as he realised he’d already lost it. 

He powered down weapons. The velocity of the rocks seemed to slow, but not by enough.

“Cut power to all non-essential systems,” Una said.

“Where am I diverting it?” Gabriel asked, already working.

“You’re not.”

It still wasn’t enough. The asteroids were still moving towards them, coalescing and merging to swarm the shuttle, still drawn by them. If her suspicions were correct, they’d have to cut everything - engines and shields and life-support along with it - before they were no longer a target. And then - what? Float in the middle of an asteroid field until oxygen levels finally gave out, presumably. Not an option. 

She yawed the _Minerva_ to avoid a rock making a determined effort to shred their starboard nacelle and saw it. A gap in the field, between the asteroids, just enough to see open space beyond. 

Freedom.

“Do we still have shields?”

“Twenty four percent.” Gabriel sounded grim.

Under this level of bombardment, they’d never make it.

Unless—

There were a lot of variables. Calculating a manoeuvre like this would be vastly more straightforward with an active viewscreen, sensor readings, even a single measurement of distance that she could trust, but it would have to do.

“Gabriel,” she said, very, very calm. “Brace.”

“For wh—”

His question evaporated as she opened thrusters to full.

What was it about starship captains and the urge to get the last word?

The force of their acceleration shoved Una back into her seat. Dampeners must have taken a hit. That would make the next few seconds interesting.

“Una?” Gabriel gritted out.

“Hold on to your lunch.”

She spun the _Minerva_ on her horizontal axis, corkscrewing towards the opening.

“Shields?” she managed.

“Bad!”

“Could you be more precise?”

“Not without opening my eyes!”

Una’s curse was lost under the roar of the engines and the thunder of the rocks battering them on all sides. 

She kept her own eyes fixed on the speed read-out. Sixty percent to full acceleration. 

A panel to Una’s right sparked ominously.

Seventy. Eighty-five. 

The panel blew. Una ducked instinctively as a chunk of something that might have been bulkhead flew towards her and clattered away. No time to worry about it now. 

One hundred percent.

Hand shaking with the effort, Una reached out to cut the engines.

The roar fell away. The drumbeat of the asteroids slowed. But the _Minerva,_ carried along by inertia, continued on her spiralling flight towards safety. 

Una risked a sickening, spinning glance ahead. That patch of stars was growing larger and larger. They’d nearly made it—

The stars began to swing to port.

She had failed to calculate sufficiently for the drag caused by the damage. They were veering steadily off course. Without correction, their present trajectory would slam them headlong into a wall of jagged rock. 

Una managed to pull her gaze back down to the helm. Alerts flashed from every display. She had no idea if this would work. If there was enough power left. 

They would only have one chance.

“Gabriel?” she said, turning to look at him. He was grey faced, whiteknuckling the armrests, eyes screwed shut.

“Ngghh?”

“Sorry.”

She slammed the thrusters on for one final burst, her stomach leaping with joy almost as much as the lurch caused by the lack of dampeners as they shot forwards. The asteroids nearest them shuddered back into life again, but too late - Una righted the shuttle, banked towards the opening, and was unable to suppress a cry of triumph, or perhaps simply relief, as they slipped through into the black beyond. The rocks fell back, unable to escape the pull of the field. 

They were free.

Una breathed out, resting her head back on her seat and closing her eyes. The sounds of alarms from almost every corner of the shuttle, the acrid smell of systems that had shorted and fused, the flickering of screens, all seemed to fill in around her, like someone cleaning up a long-range transmission.

Gabriel started to laugh, a little hysterically, the notes rising uncontrollably.

“Are you alright?” Una muttered, exhausted. 

In reply, he launched himself out of his seat and staggered towards the bathroom.

Una took the opportunity to get to her feet without him seeing. She felt shaky, now, too much adrenaline flying around her system with nowhere to go. Resting her hands on the seat in front of her, she took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

The sound of Gabriel’s returning footsteps made her straighten up, rearranging her expression into something approaching neutral. Even so, he paled a little further on seeing her.

“You’re hurt.”

Una frowned at her reflection in the shuttle window and marshalled a strand of hair back into line. Blood was already drying on her temple from a wound there. She didn’t even remember it happening, but now that she’d noticed it, it started to sting. 

“It’s just a scratch,” she said, calm.

Gabriel caught her arm as she tried to pass him. 

“Did you hit your head?”

"I'm fine—"

“Any dizziness?” he asked, frowning closely at her. “Double vision?” 

“No, there’s only the one big beard blocking my view.” The beard in question was still damp from where he’d clearly rinsed his face. 

“I’m serious. Let me see.”

Grunting at her protestations, he tilted her chin, very carefully, towards the light. His fingertips brushed the side of her neck in the process, catching Una unawares and her breath in her throat. 

“You alright?” he asked, alarmed, mistaking her reaction for pain. 

“Fine,” Una gritted out. 

His brow furrowed, unconvinced, in a new frown she categorised as ‘concerned’, but he didn’t contradict her. He leaned in to take a closer look at the wound.

“That was amazing,” he murmured.

She felt - off-balance, somehow, and not because of a concussion. She turned sharp, trying to claw her way back to an even footing again.

“It might not have been necessary if you’d fired when I told you to,” she said. 

Gabriel froze, still cupping her face. 

“They could have taken us out any time they liked, but they didn’t,” he said, addressing the side of her head. “I didn’t think it was a good idea to provoke them into changing their mind.”

“We could have slowed them down. They were in range. Why didn’t you try? Did you think you’d miss?

“No,” he said, oddly hollow. “No, I knew I wouldn’t miss.”

“Then what happened?”

A muscle twitched in his cheek.

“When I got - home,” he said slowly, “there were a lot of things I had to unlearn.”

“Like following orders?”

“Like violence.”

This time it was Una who stilled, guilt pooling in her stomach. When she’d called his name while he was at weapons control, it had been like he was pulling himself back from somewhere else. And now she realised where that was. 

“It was only a defensive shot. Targeted at their engines. Just to give us a headstart,” she said softly.

He clenched his jaw, meeting her gaze at last. 

“I’ve told myself I only ever - acted in defence. Doesn’t make the things I did any easier to live with,” he said, his voice hoarse, eyes haunted. “I can’t risk becoming that person again. I won’t. Not for anything. Not even _Discovery.”_

Gabriel’s hands were so gentle on her face, his thumb barely a whisper from the corner of her mouth. His touch felt out of kilter with his words and, as if he’d come to the same realisation, he removed them hastily and withdrew a couple of steps, almost apologetically, giving her space.

“I think it’s just a scrape,” he said, clearing his throat. “But you should take it easy tonight. Just in case.”

Una glanced at the helm. It was still sparking.

“I’ll … take that under advisement.” 

He bent to retrieve their mugs, which had fallen from the table at some point during their flight, leaving sticky puddles and splashes on the floor and bulkheads. It seemed like an impossibly small thing to be worried about in the midst of - all of this, all the alarms and smoke. He set them down again with almost exaggerated care. 

She’d had access to his unredacted briefing files. Knew, in the abstract at least, that he’d been through almost unthinkable trauma. But she hadn’t really _understood_ it, she realised. It was just a matter of historical record for her. For Gabriel, despite the distance and the years that had passed, it was every day. 

“I won’t ask you to do that again,” Una said. “I’m sorry.”

He looked up, surprised, and Una was taken aback by the pang of - rage she felt on his behalf, that he’d clearly learned not to expect his boundaries to be respected. That he hadn’t even thought to _ask_ for it.

“But if we’re going to work together,” she continued, the hypocrisy hot on her tongue, “then I need you to be honest with me. I need you to tell me if there’s a problem that might affect the outcome of the mission. Understood?”

He nodded.

“Understood.” He jerked his chin at the computer, changing the subject. “I’ll make a start on repairs.”

“Wait until I get back—”

“You need to rest up. I’ve got this.”

Una raised an eyebrow.

“Was that an order?”

“It’s your mission. And your shuttle.” Gabriel shrugged. “But it’s my shift.”

She tried to glare at him, but the throbbing in her head meant it came out as more of a grimace. Maybe, she admitted grudgingly to herself, he had a point. Amanda, too. This was, after all, the whole reason for having a partner. 

Damn them both. 

“I want a full damage report first,” she conceded.

“Fine.”

“And - don’t touch my engines.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Una sagged.

“Alright. I’ll go and…” She waved a hand at her head. 

“You need a hand?”

An image of him squeezing into the bathroom with her flitted across Una’s mind and her chest constricted.

“No,” she said sharply, then, more conciliatory, “No. I can handle it.”

The line between his brows didn’t lessen, but at least he didn’t try to stop her. She had reached the corridor before he spoke again.

“Una?” She couldn’t parse the new frown on his face. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t that she fled to the bathroom, Una told herself as the door slid shut behind her. She just - walked quickly in its direction.

Alone, finally, Una could let her guard down enough to acknowledge that her head really did hurt. Quite a lot, in fact. 

She wiped a streak through the steam on the mirror to inspect the wound, wincing: nasty-looking, but hardly life-threatening. She’d dealt with far worse in the past without anyone else fussing over her. A couple of cycles with the dermal regenerator and it would be as though it had never happened. Not worth Gabriel’s outbreak of concern. 

It occurred to her that she ought to have felt unnerved by what had just happened. And - she was. But not because of Gabriel's admission. She had never felt anything other than safe with him. Well. Also frustrated, incredulous, exasperated. Occasionally amused. But never unsafe.

She rubbed her jaw, absently, along the spot where he had held her.

Which meant that she was unnerved because—

—because they had just been involved in a high speed chase during which he had disobeyed a direct order, putting them both at risk and jeopardising the mission to boot. It was hardly surprising.

Perhaps she really was concussed. 

At least the shower still worked. That was one thing they could strike off their repair list. 

“Towel!” she called, a little while later, and didn’t wait for Gabriel to acknowledge before striding - not fleeing, certainly not fleeing - to the safety of her cabin, and leaned on the door once it closed behind her. 

The lights flickered on, and then kept flickering. Each flash revealed something else in disarray - clothes flung from the closet - books scattered over the floor - the ugly wooden horse—

—the ugly wooden horse was missing. The magclips holding it down had snapped apart, and there was an empty space where it ought to be. Una scrabbled for it in the faltering light, and breathed out as her hand closed around it.

Completely unharmed.

“I’ll have to try harder to get rid of you,” she muttered, and set it carefully down in its rightful place. 

Una rested her forehead against the cool metal of the bulkhead, eyes squeezed closed, and for a second the exhaustion she’d been holding back threatened to swamp her. Only a second. _A commanding officer should never get caught with their pants down,_ she told herself, stern, and straightened up. There was work to be done, and it couldn't be faced in a towel. And besides, sleep was looking like an increasingly distant proposition. She pulled on an assortment of clean clothes from the heaps she’d cleared from the floor - a little gingerly, she noted, with some irritation - opened a panel to see to the malfunctioning light and methodically tidied the rest of the mess, before finally lying back on her bed with a cracked PADD. 

The first of Gabriel’s damage reports had come in; one glance at the number of items on it told her all she needed to know. They’d be able to patch things up, but it was going to take a full refit to get things back to how they used to be. And they certainly wouldn’t be outrunning anyone else any time soon. She lined up a few priority tasks for him, then closed the report and tried not to think too much about the fact that she was entrusting her shuttle to the man who’d earlier suggested that they flew it into an asteroid field.

Instead, she pulled the data feed from the _Minerva’s_ sensors, flight stats and tactical analyses, everything they had managed to pick up on their shadow before the asteroid field had scrambled them, and cross-referenced it against Amanda’s data, doing her best to ignore what was becoming an undeniable headache.

Distilling a mission down into facts and figures usually helped. Thinking about things rationally, allowing herself to be guided by the numbers. Numbers were familiar and reassuring. Soothing. Numbers didn’t get under your skin.

She ran the data again, waiting for the usual sense of calm to descend. A third attempt, and the dread in the pit of her stomach only grew worse. 

These numbers were getting under her skin. And all of them led to an inescapable, and deeply unsettling, conclusion.

This really wasn’t Section 31. This was something far worse. 

Occasionally, Una hated being right.


	6. First Contact Procedures

Gabriel worked through the night, but even so, by the time Una surfaced for her shift, he’d barely made a dent in the list of repairs. The shadows under her eyes made him suspect that she hadn’t heeded his advice to get some sleep; all the same, she threw herself into the thick of things straight away, and Gabriel resolved to keep pace with her, sure that if he stayed still for too long exhaustion would catch him up.

At least he now had the empirical evidence required to answer one question. The silence they'd shared on the flight out from Vulcan had been companionable after all;  _ this _ was definitely the bad kind of silence.

“Power converter in the main replicator needs switching out,” Una announced. It was the most she’d spoken to him in one go all morning. 

“On it.”

She hadn’t been able to get away from him quickly enough last night. He couldn’t exactly blame her. The Gabriel Lorca Guide to Making Friends: step one - remind them that you’ve killed people, preferably whilst looming menacingly over them in an enclosed space; step two - ??? Friendship?

Yeah. That worked.

So, he’d been careful to give her as much of the little space there was as possible while they worked. Or - while Una worked, and occasionally remembered that he was there for long enough to delegate him a task he couldn’t mess up, he realised, shoving a new power converter into its slot with more force than it strictly warranted. 

He was pretty sure he wasn’t forgiven yet for flying them into the asteroid belt either, so there was that too. 

Task successfully completed, or at least not messed up, Gabriel set two steaming mugs of coffee down on the table.

“Food synthesiser’s back online,” he informed Una. Or, more accurately, Una’s legs, which were the only part of her currently visible, the rest of her having disappeared somewhere under the workings of the helm. Caught up in whatever it was she was doing, she made a vague noise of acknowledgment. Gabriel sipped at his mug, waiting for realisation to dawn, and grinned as she shot out, skidding the trolley to a halt and sitting bolt upright just in front of him. 

_ “Thank  _ you.”

Shoving her head torch up, she lighted on the coffee he handed her like it was water in a desert. For a single, unguarded moment, hands wrapped around her mug, it looked like the last few hours had finally got the better of her, and then - she was back.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said abruptly.

“Oh?” Gabriel frowned, surprised.

“There’s something you need to see.”

“Oh.”

Right. Yes. That made more sense. 

She clambered to her feet and motioned for him to follow her to the helm, stopping only to set the panelling she’d removed back in place, too engrossed in her coffee to spare him any words. 

“I took a sample from the asteroid belt,” she said briefly, setting a cylinder of reinforced transparent aluminium on the console. Three chunks of rock, each about the size of Gabriel’s fist, sat inert in a heap at its base. 

“You’ve been busy,” Gabriel remarked, because  _ ‘you were supposed to be resting’  _ would probably count as insubordination, especially after last night’s showdown. He crouched until he was at eye level with the rocks. “How'd you manage that?”

“With difficulty. The belt took great offence at the drone I sent out.”

Gabriel looked back up at her sharply.

“It took  _ what  _ now—”

Una held up a finger, and Gabriel fell silent. He watched her instruct the  _ Minerva  _ to hold position and then engage the thrusters, increasing power slowly. The shuttle protested, engines taking on an urgent hum as it fought against itself, but neither of them paid it much attention. Their focus was on the cylinder, where the little clump of asteroids began first to vibrate, then shudder. 

“And for my next trick…” Una murmured over the rim of her mug.

The whine of the engines reached a painful pitch, and the rocks shot straight towards his face, hitting the side of the cylinder with a  _ crack _ . Gabriel rocked back on his heels in spite of the aluminium encasing them and landed awkwardly, jarring his wrist in the process.

“Holy sh—”

Una powered down hastily and both the noise and the rocks stopped mid-flight, dropping like, well, rocks to the bottom of the sample case. 

Gabriel swallowed.

"I might not be much of a geologist," he managed, settling back on his haunches and massaging his hand ruefully, "but I've never seen rocks do that." A cold, sick feeling pooled in his stomach. “Are they - sentient?”

It wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’d ever heard. And he’d opened fire on them. Hadn’t even thought about the possibility. What if—

"No," Una replied hurriedly, apparently reading his expression. "No. Nothing like that. Those rocks are just that. Rocks. But I do believe that they are being controlled."

Gabriel scrubbed a hand over his forehead, relieved. "By our new friends, you mean?" At the quirk of Una's eyebrow, he blew out his cheeks. "There I was wondering why we hadn't seen a welcoming party yet."

"Amanda said that their planetary defences were considerable.” Una took a sip and added mildly, “I think she may have understated that."

“So when I started shooting—?” he asked, heaving himself back to his feet again.

“You triggered an escalation, yes. And now it appears we’ve been marked as a threat.” 

Gabriel glanced down at the rocks that until very recently had been doing their damndest to punch holes in his face and took a fortifying drag of coffee.

“Huh,” he said, which just about summed it up.

“For what it’s worth, at the time, I concurred that the most satisfying course of action was to blow those things up.”

He had to admit it was starting to feel like it might not have been worth it.

"They're marshalling a whole damn asteroid belt just to keep visitors out," he muttered. "Not exactly social."

"But impressive."

"Maybe we could negotiate access to that tech, too."

"A personal asteroid field.” Una’s eyebrow flickered as she stowed the cylinder safely away again. “It certainly has appeal."

"Could be the latest accessory. An actual asteroid belt. No one would dare bother you while you were wearing it."

They considered that utopia in silence a moment.

"There is one advantage," Una said after a while, breaking into Gabriel's daydream about repelling Mudd with portable lumps of space-rock. "We now have a considerable head start on our shadow."

"Unless they risk going into the field, they'll have to go the long way round," Gabriel agreed, tapping a thumbnail against his teeth. She hadn’t bothered to rehearse the possibility that their shadow might not keep pursuing them after all, he noticed. It was exactly the level of cynical realism he could get behind. “How much time does that buy us?”

“It’s hard to be precise, given the interference. But I would estimate something in the region of four hours.” Una’s tone was very much that of someone who could in fact estimate the time down to the millisecond because they had been working on some very precise calculations instead of resting up. 

_ Not my shuttle, not my mission,  _ Gabriel reminded himself. He had enough experience to understand his role here. There were times his opinion might be welcomed and times when all that was required of him was to keep the brains of the outfit topped up with caffeine until they could both catch their breath. And judging by the rate Una was getting through that mug, right now, it was the latter. 

"So that's the good news. What's the bad? Aside from weaponised asteroids trying to turn this boat into a colander, I mean."

"We were going to use the drone to deploy the relay, and the asteroids are composed of the same minerals as those found on the moon’s surface. Given the reaction I observed on the drone’s previous run, I would suggest that combining the two would be…"

"A shitshow?"

"I was going to say 'ill-advised', but that works too." Una looked at him. "We'll have to revise the plan. One of us will need to deliver our package by hand, while the other tethers it to the  _ Minerva. _ "

Gabriel had a feeling he knew which way this was going to go. 

"Chances that you're going to let me programme your shuttle are…?" Less than zero, if the eyebrow Una raised was anything to go by. There was a reason he'd been put on 'plugging in new power converters' duty. "Right. Guess I'll suit up, then."

“Not quite so fast. First I need to get the impulse drive back up to something approaching full strength. And resurrect comms. And navigation systems.”

“Alright. What can I do to help?”

Una handed him a sonic spanner. 

“The ’fresher was making unsettling noises,” she said. 

Gabriel sighed. 

In the end, eighty percent capacity was the best Una could magic up from the engines, but at least they made their approach to the moon with their plumbing at full power. Buckling in next to her, hair damp, Gabriel glanced at the scorch marks still visible on the bulkhead and decided now was not the right time to mention the pair of soggy socks he’d just sacrificed for the cause. 

Una grew quiet again as the moon loomed large and lumpy in the viewscreen. In the far distance, NG-323 itself hung, half in shadow, marbled emerald against the black. 

“Standard orbit,” she said, tersely.

A sensor sweep of the surface told them little they didn’t already know, but it took on something of a different hue now that Gabriel knew he’d actually be setting foot on it. Terrain: inhospitable. Temperature: decidedly unwelcoming. Atmosphere: bastard asshole. 

All in all, the ideal destination, if what you were looking for was to become very dead very quickly whilst staring at what had to be some of the ugliest rocks this side of the Barrier. 

“I get all the glamorous jobs,” he muttered.

Una gave the statement all the consideration it was due, which was to say, none. “Lifesigns?” she asked instead. 

Gabriel ran another scan, just to be sure.

“Nothing.” As if she wanted to make sure for herself, or maybe as if she could compel some lifesigns to show themselves through sheer force of will, Una glared at the moon down her old-fashioned helm scope, a weirdly anachronistic affectation amidst all the sleekness of the  _ Minerva _ . “See anything you like?” he asked mildly.

She set the scope back with a smart  _ snap  _ and straightened up.

“A suitable landing site,” she said. “Prepare systems for landing. Let’s go.” 

As they made their descent, Gabriel did his best not to wonder how well Una’s repairs would hold up, and told himself that the rattle in the bulkheads that he could make out over the roar of the landing thrusters had definitely always been there. 

In their transparent aluminium cage, the captive asteroids began to quiver, then hum, then—

Nothing. 

"Landing complete," Una announced.

While outside the dust settled on and around and the shuttle, inside, from the far end of the corridor, came the unmistakable sound of a steadily dripping tap.

"Oh come  _ on," _ Gabriel sighed. 

There was more or less no dignified way to get into an EVA suit, especially in a space as confined as a two-person shuttle. Any process that began with cinching yourself into a garment that could at best be described as a shiny full-body sock was an inherently ridiculous one, Gabriel told himself. There was no room for ego here, or much else for that matter; months of field operations with the Network meant that he was in better shape than he’d been in - years, if he was being honest, but even so it still fit a little more snugly around the middle than he remembered.

“Pretty sure these used to be bigger,” he grumbled, resigned, padding back from his cabin to the shuttle’s living space, where Una, efficient as always, had laid out the outer layer and remaining components of the suit ready for him.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You appear to meet all specifications,” she remarked drily.

It may well have been the nicest thing she’d ever said to him. 

The sheer unflinching force of Una’s professionalism, while Gabriel grunted and cursed and thrashed his way into the damn thing, could have been harnessed to power starships. 

It was definitely a ridiculous process. Probably always had been, Gabriel realised, and it was only now, with the benefit of the distance his so-called retirement had afforded him, that he could fully appreciate just how ridiculous it was.

Gabriel made the mistake of trying to work out how long it had been since he’d last worn an EVA, and sweat prickled his hairline. 

There was a reason that his first, tentative missions for the Network had fallen within a small radius of Dj’reek, one that had only been very gradually widened once they were all sure he could handle it - Gabriel as much as the rest of them. After all, it wasn’t all that long since his first trip off-planet in a decade, and he’d spent a large portion of  _ that  _ trip throwing up. As much as he’d tell anyone who listened that that was all down to Mudd’s flying, that wasn’t the whole truth. Gabriel might have found his space legs again, but it had taken time. 

Going into space was one thing. Striding out into its vast and merciless embrace with only a few millimeters of material and a handful of tech between you and certain death was another altogether, even before you threw in the possibility of asteroids that might actively try to kill you; mysterious beings chasing you for reasons as yet unknown; and the fact that all the while you were out there, you’d be carrying a bit of kit designed by a royal pyrotechnist. 

His hands started to shake.

_ “Damn it,”  _ he muttered, as a catch slipped out of his grip a third time.

“Everything alright?” Una asked.

“Fine,” Gabriel lied. “Just - these damn gloves.”

As she leaned against the bulkheads, Una got that look again. The one that made him feel like he was being scanned. Gabriel grit his teeth and focussed again on the catch, willing away his bastard tremor, which only seemed to encourage it.

“Yes. They do make things awkward.” Una had patently never had any problems with them, but all the same she kept carefully neutral as she watched him, her gaze deliberately avoiding his hands. “Can I help?”

Her expressions never gave much away. But last night, he’d been close enough to her to witness the microscopic change in her eyes while he talked. The flash of - fear? Pity? He wasn’t sure which was worse. 

He’d thought he’d been giving Una a wide berth this morning for her sake, but maybe that wasn’t strictly true. Maybe he just didn’t want to find out how she really saw him. To find out how closely it matched his own assessment. 

But it was either that or risk the vast and merciless embrace of space with a possibly explosive relay  _ and _ a leaky suit, so Gabriel pressed his lips tightly together and nodded silently. 

While Una worked, checking over joins and seals and making minute adjustments, Gabriel stood very still, doing his best to make himself as small as possible, not an easy feat in the bulk of the suit. She placed a hand on his chestplate to brace herself while she leaned across him for a valve on his shoulder. 

Gabriel stiffened, feeling a whole new flavour of uncomfortable, one that bypassed his brain altogether. 

Huh. This suit really was snug.

He kept his gaze fixed very firmly on the bulkheads, glad that his beard would cover most of the blush that he could feel creeping up from his chest, from the spot where her hand was still resting. 

“You decided on our first message yet?” he asked, to distract himself as much as anything else. 

“Of course. Standard greetings.”

It was a pretty depressing state of affairs when the touch of a hand through an EVA suit could do this to a guy. It wasn't even like he could  _ feel  _ it, or the warmth of Una, not really, not even this close. The suit was designed to protect against extreme levels of radiation and the vacuum of space. There was no way he could feel it. Which meant that the sudden flush he was experiencing was all to do with him. The suit was already having to work to cool him down. Not a reassuring thought.

“I meant - our first real message.” His mouth felt dry. 

“A request for assistance.”

“That’s it?” he said, incredulously. 

“What would you suggest?”

Gabriel was starting to wonder what he was more nervous about. The deadly uncharted moon thing or the being very close to another human thing.

He got a noseful of Una’s shampoo and felt his temperature spike, then drop again as the suit compensated for it.

The being close to another human thing, definitely. 

He needed a cold shower. Or, even better, a walk out onto a deadly uncharted moon. That would definitely help calm him down. 

His pulse started racing again. 

_ Goddamnit.  _

What was the question again? Right. 

“Tell them about  _ Discovery.  _ Show them what we’re trying to fix. Make it impossible for them to refuse helping us.”

Una pursed her lips and checked over another catch before she replied. 

“I’m sure the wealth of experience you gained from your four first contacts—”

“And one ‘possible’,” muttered Gabriel.

“—and one ‘possible’,” she amended graciously, “included the importance of caution in these early stages. Until we know more about our new friends on NG-323, I would prefer to remain circumspect.”

Gabriel was sure the damned suit was amplifying the thudding of his heart. There was no other explanation for it. 

“You expecting trouble down there?”

“All evidence so far would seem to suggest that they are trying to get us to take a hint. Their next warning may be more - emphatic. So. We proceed with caution.” Una was close enough now that her breath tickled at his ear, sending a shiver down the back of his neck. “There’s a direct feed to the shuttle. I’ll be monitoring it constantly. Any sign of trouble and I’ll bring you back in,” she continued, obviously misreading what had got him nervous this time. Truth be told, he was starting to lose track himself. 

“Is that what the wealth of your experience taught you?” Gabriel asked quietly. “Caution?”

“In part.” Una didn’t meet his eye. A half-answer, he realised, and still more than she really wanted to give him. Gabriel filed it away with her other deflections and silences and resolved to work it out later.

“We’ve only got a few hours,” he reminded her.

Una held his gaze with an expression that made his stomach do a strange sort of backflip, and drove the final fastening home. “Then you’d best make sure you don’t dawdle.”

She stepped back, casting a last, professional eye over him - more than could be said for Gabriel, who was certain he’d added new scorch marks to the collection on the bulkheads - and he found himself breathing out in relief.

“All clear,” she said. “Do you want to try out the helmet?” 

Putting up a shield between himself and the rest of the universe sounded like a great idea. Gabriel hastily tapped the helmet release mechanism on his chest, and felt himself relax as it closed around his head. It wouldn't hide his face, but it did at least give him something to do with it that wasn't staring at Una. Feeling like he was on safer ground already, he busied himself with checking the displays that activated. 

The life support system had some pretty strident opinions about his heartrate that Gabriel would much rather it kept to itself.

“Your objective is to deploy the relay and get back as quickly as possible,” Una was saying. “That’s all.”

“Don’t annoy the local geology in the process?” Gabriel said, doing his best to sound upbeat.

“That would be ideal.” 

He unclipped the phaser from the suit’s holster and set it down on the table with deliberate care. 

“Don’t want to take any risks,” he muttered. Una simply nodded, a gesture which somehow managed to be both reassuring and another unwelcome reminder of the previous evening all at the same time. 

She glanced down and tapped a few commands on a PADD. “Alright. You’re locked into ship’s systems. Shall we?”

More ruthless efficiency on Una's part meant that Gabriel found himself on the wrong side of a containment field separating fore from aft rather sooner than he would have liked. While the pressure in the corridor cycled, he tapped a finger against his thigh in a nervous metronome, staring blankly at the hatch doors. 

A chime sounded, signalling the process was complete. 

_ Damn it. _

_ “Ready, Gabriel?”  _ Una’s question came over comms, echoing slightly in his helmet.

He took a deep, calming breath.

A few millimeters of material and a handful of tech. That was all he had. 

He glanced back at Una, through the containment field. She was poised at the helm, twisted to watch him, one arm over the back of her seat. The displays on her screens were a mirror of his own, already tracking his progress. 

Gabriel nodded.

“Ready.”

He opened the hatch.


	7. Quote the Fights Historical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up two months late referencing a years-old meme*
> 
> (I have a feeling that 'I'm really sorry for the delay' is going to be a phrase that I type a lot for this fic, so instead I'll say thank you very much for your patience while I figured this chapter out...)

The  _ Minerva _ was still emitting gentle  _ pings  _ as it cooled, the tinkling sound echoing and cascading around the ravine. 

_ “How does she look?” _ Una asked over comms.

“Uh…”

The shuttle's usually sleek lines were considerably more - lumpy than they’d been when they’d left Xahea. There was a huge scrape along the hull, the plating scored with dents and scratches just about everywhere he looked. Scorch marks marred the vents, a dead giveaway that the engines had overheated. All in all, it looked worse than even Gabriel, a man not noted for outbreaks of optimism, had anticipated. 

_ “Show me.” _

Gabriel swallowed and activated his helmet camera. There was a very pointed sort of silence on the other end of the line as Una surveyed the damage. 

“Might need a lick of paint,” he tried.

The silence got louder, somehow. 

_ “Coordinates are on your screen now,”  _ Una said, tightly.

Yep. She definitely wouldn’t be forgiving him any time soon. 

Gabriel glanced at the map overlaid on his display. With her usual pinpoint precision, Una had landed the shuttle on what appeared to be the only level bit of ground for miles. The caves Po had identified were only a short distance away, but the terrain between was rough and uneven, full of steep climbs and sharp drops.

He slung the relay over his shoulders and set off. 

It was quiet enough that Gabriel’s breathing sounded too loud in his helmet. Like the crypt on Vulcan, the silence here was old. Unlike that silence, though, which was rich and contemplative, heavy with history, the silence here was - dead.

“You know, those images Amanda took really don’t do this place justice,” he said, his attempt at cheeriness coming off as strained to his own ears. 

_ “Really?” _

“Yeah. Because it’s even worse in the flesh.”

_ “Ah.” _

From above, this place had looked uniformly grey and uninteresting. But as Gabriel passed in the shadow of a weathered formation that punched through the ground like a giant fist, the beams from the torches on his suit caught a patch of something that sent up a jewelled flash of colour.

“Huh.”

_ “Hmm?”  _ Una asked, distractedly.

Gabriel crouched close enough for the camera to pick it up and to satisfy his own curiosity. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to be part of the rock itself. It was encrusted on the surface, a sort of iridescent, crystalline moss, thousands of tiny individual gems clustered together in an area roughly the size of his hand.

“See that?” he asked, shifting slightly so that the beam moved, and with the motion the colours cycled red through blue and back again. He rocked back on his heels, looking around with renewed interest, and the light hit another spot of the stuff, glittering in the side of the tor. “There’s more.”

_ “Hmm.”  _ There was a markedly different tone to this  _ hmm.  _ Gabriel decided to play a hunch.

“Oh well,” he declared, clambering to his feet again. “Back to the grind—”

_ “Wait. Take a reading.” _

He smirked.

“What happened to ‘deploy the relay, get back as quickly as possible’?” he asked.

_ “The mission parameters have been adjusted.” _

“You mean you changed your mind.”

_ “Based on emerging data. It’s called science, Gabriel. Now, take a reading.” _

“Say please.”

Una was not a particularly expressive person, but Gabriel was fairly sure he could hear the exasperated eyeroll being performed back on the shuttle even from here. 

_ “Please take a reading,” _ Una said at last, very calm.

“Be glad to,” he said, graciously. 

This time, she didn’t bother disguising her sigh. 

He tapped a few commands on his tricorder and fired the results back to the Minerva. There was a pause while Una worked, during which Gabriel kept on the move, double-checking the coordinates as he went. 

He found himself grinning. She might not have forgiven him yet, but clearly the lure of scientific research was strong enough to make her consider a brief truce. Una behaved as though an inability to present an immediate answer to a question was an attack on her moral character. She had a magpie-like approach to information, he'd noticed - it didn't seem to matter what it was, it all got swept up and filed away whenever she was near. 

He'd taken a look at her Academy transcripts, pretty much the only part of her record that wasn’t classified, in the spirit of research and in an attempt to find some common ground. She'd taken more extra credit classes in one semester than Gabriel had taken in his entire life. Her final thesis had the kind of title that needed a colon just to fit all the ideas in. He had understood most of the words involved taken individually, but when they were all strung together he was lost. 

He couldn't even remember what his final project had been. He'd been on the Security track before switching to Command during his first tour. It was probably 'watch me pick up heavy stuff' or 'see how fast I can climb up this wall'. He doubted it had required much punctuation. The only way he might have earned extra credit was by taking off his shirt—

_ “Take a look at this,” _ Una said at last.

She transferred her findings to him, and he groaned inwardly as the display in his helmet lit up with equations.

“Not really my strong suit,” he said. “You mind translating?”

_ “Well, first of all, scans confirm a high concentration of beta radiation on the surface.” _

Gabriel eyeballed the vast expanse of radioactive material that lay before him. And behind him. And beneath him.

“Goodie.”

_ “The suit can handle it. Refrain from licking any of those rocks and you’ll be fine.” _

“Noted,” Gabriel replied, dry as the deadly dust under his feet. “Anything else?”

_ “Based on your data, I rendered a model of that crystalline deposit.” _

A new image flashed up on Gabriel’s internal screen: a shining, lazy swirling mass of colour.

“Doesn’t look all that crystalline to me,” he observed.

_ “That’s because it’s not. Or rather, it wasn’t. In its original state, at least, it was some kind of organic cross-linked polymer, exhibiting behaviour similar to...” _

Gabriel got the distinct impression that he was bearing witness, possibly for the first time in recorded history, of Una getting carried away. Or - something very like it, anyway. This was very nearly  _ enthusiasm, _ by her standards. Unfortunately, that still left him with a translation in need of translation. He stared at the diagram, waited for a pause that seemed to require a reaction, and took his best stab at it. 

“Slime?” he tried. “Shiny slime?”

_ “I don’t recognise the composition, and there are no matches in Federation databases,”  _ Una replied, kindly declining to comment on his appraisal of the situation.  _ “But … yes, I suppose that will do. At some point in the moon’s history, that substance covered most of its surface.” _

“So where’d it all go?”

_ “In its viscous state, the - slime’s structure is relatively unstable. A perfectly constant temperature would be required to maintain it.” _

Frowning, Gabriel flicked away the image. His torchbeams hit another patch of the remains of the slime and set it sparkling. 

“Which … does not appear to be the case here.”

_ “Indeed.”  _ Una paused.  _ “There’s one more thing. Although it’s more of an - extrapolation, at this point.” _

“A guess, you mean?” he asked, picking his way over the uneven ground. 

The cold silence that greeted this told Gabriel everything he needed to know about Una’s feelings regarding that word. 

_ “For obvious reasons, we haven’t been able to carry out a detailed analysis of the surface of NG-323,”  _ she continued, as if he hadn’t just horribly insulted her and quite possibly dishonoured every single one of her ancestors into the bargain.  _ “But based on Amanda’s data, I believe there is enough evidence to support the theory that the same substance is present there too. In its original form.” _

“You mean - whoever lives down there…”

_ “I mean that this moon once supported some kind of lifeform, and there’s a good chance it was the same lifeform we are looking for.” _

There it was again. That not-right feeling about this place.

_ “What do you think happened?” _ Una asked.

A little shiver ran down Gabriel’s neck, one that the suit’s systems couldn’t correct for. He looked at the vast craters and crevasses that littered the surface, suddenly unable to shake the thought of an abandoned battlefield. Or a graveyard.

“Nothing good.” 

_ “You don’t think it was natural causes?” _

“I think we might have our explanation for our new friends’ twitchiness. Call it an - extrapolation.”

Una hummed in agreement. 

_ “It might also explain where the debris for that asteroid field came from.” _

“You think they dismantled their dead planet to keep the rest of the universe out? That's a little dramatic.”

_ “I think they utilised inert waste to protect themselves from future harm. It sounds practical, to me.”  _ Gabriel made a mental note to never piss Una off. More than he already had, that was. 

Una hesitated.  _ "I imagine it must be hard. Looking up and seeing a constant reminder of something so terrible." _

Gabriel flexed his hands. For now, his gloves hid his own reminders, but they were there all the same. 

"I - imagine you're right," he said quietly. 

He wondered, not for the first time, what Una's were. 

_ "You appear to have slowed down.”  _ She was businesslike again. _ “We've got a head start on our shadow, but that doesn't mean that we have time for sightseeing." _

"Hey, you were the one who wanted scans," Gabriel pointed out, but picked up the pace all the same.

It wasn’t the sort of question you could just ask someone, especially not when you were trapped together in a tiny tin can hurtling through space. Some answers could be folded down and safely put away in the silence inside you, but took up too much room if you said them out loud. If you let them loose somewhere like the shuttle, things could get crowded pretty quickly. Sometimes, silence was safest. And Una had a lot of silence. Half of what she said was kept there.

But maybe now, with a whole moon between them, there was finally the space to try.

*

Una had kept an eye on Gabriel via the shuttle’s external cameras until he eventually disappeared over the ridge of a hill and out of sight. They offered a far wider view of the terrain than the more claustrophobic feed from his helmet; much better for monitoring potential risks. 

And if it had also happened to provide an unimpeded view of Gabriel from behind, well, that was simply an unintentional, if not unwelcome, side effect. 

Professional. Almost as professional as the way, just a short while earlier, she’d encroached so thoroughly on his personal space that she’d been able to smell whatever it was that he used on his beard. She might be able to work it out from his replicator records, for the purpose of extremely professional curiosity—

Absolutely not. No wonder he’d looked so alarmed. She’d spent half the morning snapping at him, and the rest of it flinging herself on him.

_ Congratulations. Now your secret shadow organisation requires an HR department. _

Chain of command. It was only a chain of two, and they might have dispensed with ranks, but Gabriel was still her subordinate. Una was well aware of what that meant. It meant  _ professional.  _ It meant not abusing her power by rifling through his replicator usage, for starters. It meant that however many coffees they shared, they could never be peers. It meant that despite their apparent proximity - which was enforced, she reminded herself sternly, by the constraints of the mission - she was still alone. Just as she preferred it.

_ So, not throwing yourself at Gabriel ought to be very straightforward.  _

Following his progress on her screens now, though, his helmet tracking every motion of his head, every flicker of a glance as he assessed and negotiated his way over the tricky terrain, her unprofessional moment of distraction felt distant. Even the data from the scans Gabriel had taken, as scientifically interesting as they might be, had only provided a brief respite from the dread that had been growing steadily more suffocating all day. And night. Una rubbed her forehead. She’d barely slept. No wonder there was a headache nagging away at the edges of her vision.

She owed him an explanation for her behaviour. Some of her behaviour. The parts where she had behaved like a targ with a tusk infection while he quietly and thoughtfully got on with his work, at least. He’d brought her a _coffee,_ for goodness’ sake. If he’d tried to be any less intrusive he’d have packed himself into the cargo hold. 

She really ought to have shared her suspicions with Gabriel. But that was the problem;  _ suspicions  _ was all they were. And besides, even if she was correct, it had no material impact on the mission, and that was where she needed Gabriel’s focus.

_ Ah, yes. Because it’s  _ Gabriel’s  _ professionalism that’s the problem here. _

It was  _ professionalism  _ that prevented Una from saying anything. This was her mission. She wasn’t going to risk destabilising it on a hunch. It was her problem to solve. It was her  _ problem.  _ Her role here was to hold this thing together, to instill confidence, and she would hardly do that by throwing around baseless fears—

_ “You, uh, never actually told me.”  _ Gabriel’s voice over comms was hesitant, but it made her jump all the same.

“What?” Distracted, Una replayed the last few moments, reassuring herself that she had not voiced any of that out loud, and that Gabriel was not in fact capable of reading minds. “Tell you what?”

_ “About - the worst plan you ever heard.” _

Una blinked. "You want to talk about this now?"

_ "Sure. Why not?" _

As though the answer to this apparent non-sequitur lay somewhere there, Una stared at her screen. And perhaps it could, she realised, eyes narrowing as she took in the data. Gabriel’s charts were shot through with spikes of cortisol. His heartrate might have climbed down from the frankly alarming heights it had reached while he was suiting up, but it was still elevated. His core temperature sat well above baseline parameters and, as she watched, continue to rise faster than the suit could respond.

Gabriel was stressed. He was looking for  _ distraction.  _ Which meant … small talk. 

Una had never found much need for small talk. But, seemingly, the very outcome of the mission could hinge on her ability to participate in it. 

She sighed. You never had to deal with small talk when you worked solo, either. 

_ “Come on,”  _ Gabriel insisted.  _ “I can’t believe that in - what, twenty first contact missions—?”  _ \- Una found herself smiling at his none too subtle attempt to draw a number from her, in spite both of herself and the wild inaccuracy of his guess -  _ “—flying into a weaponised asteroid field could possibly be the worst plan you ever heard. So. What is it?” _

_ Aside from conspiring to cover up the existence of an entire starship, you mean?  _ Una pictured Gabriel doing something stupid like - apologising or reassuring her and caught herself just in time to prevent the words from leaving her mouth in the first place. 

No. That wasn’t what he meant at all. Of course not. He meant _ small talk.  _

This was precisely the problem with this sort of thing. The question was inexact. It all depended on the definition of ‘worst’ being applied. The least successful? What categories of failure were being taken into account? The amount of political faux pas? The length of the dressing down from Starfleet Command? Highest fatality rate? 

There was a possibility she was overthinking this. Small talk. Una cast about for a suitably bland and vaguely humorous anecdote and clutched at the first thing that came to mind. 

“I - allowed Chris to talk me into horseriding, once.”

_ “Horseriding,”  _ Gabriel repeated flatly.

“I was due to spend some time at an archaeological dig on Mexus Three, but my transport was waylaid by a subspace relay failure.” 

_ “Hold on. Back up. Is this shore leave? You were going to - do archaeology for a  _ vacation? _ ” _

“I dabble.”

_ “Of course you do.”  _ He sighed.  _ “We really do have different ideas of what constitutes fun.”  _ She thought that was rich, coming from a man she had strongly suspected for some days now of having a secret morning workout regime. Una, who submitted to exercise only out of a stoic sense of duty, had a healthy distrust of anyone who actually  _ enjoyed _ it.  _ “Alright. Holiday digging gets cancelled. Then what?” _

“Chris was taking his own shore leave and invited me to join him in Mojave instead. He assured me that horseriding would be an adequately restorative use of my time.”

Her interest in the equine element of the trip had been admittedly limited, but her research foray into relevant fictional holo-media in the  _ Enterprise's  _ library had led her to believe that it would form a necessary adjunct to meaningful conversation. Perhaps an opportunity for them - for one of them, at least - to reconsider certain entrenched views regarding the nature of their association. Perhaps more. Huddling under blankets formed a not inconsiderable part of her findings. It had seemed like a foolproof plan.

_ “And?” _

As it happened, Chris  _ had  _ passed her a blanket under the stars one evening, when they finally stopped to make camp several hours after the point at which Una would have recommended. But it had smelled of horse. And he’d had his own.

Una pursed her lips. “It was not.”

Chris had been effusive about the many merits of horses. Una, who had been compelled to stand for the duration of the shuttle ride back to the  _ Enterprise _ and, worse, to  _ sit down at her console when they arrived _ , had failed to appreciate them.

Apparently her half-heartedness in her own story carried, because Gabriel scoffed,  _ “That’s it? That’s your worst plan ever?” _

She had often wondered whether anyone had thought to suggest a visit to Mojave after Chris’s accident. Before he disappeared. God, she hoped someone had. That it hadn’t been her was just one more regret in an exhaustingly long list.

Una shook that old weight from her shoulders, faintly annoyed with herself. Perhaps she had been naive then, but she felt very strongly now that voluntarily spending time in the company of large twitchy mammals with too many legs, any one of which could kill with a single blow, qualified as a suboptimal plan whatever the intended objective. 

“Do you have much experience with horses?” she asked defensively, to avoid having to explain her motivations. 

_ “More of an ass man, myself.” _

The feed from Gabriel’s camera stopped dead as he ground to a halt, but the graph tracking his internal temperature continued to rise. A small smile played over Una’s lips as she realised that the silence she was listening to was in fact the sound of a man’s ears turning steadily pink. 

“How interesting,” she said, unable to keep her smirk from creeping into her tone. “And what is it you like about them, Gabriel?” 

He made a tiny, strangled noise, and Una had to mute the line again to cover up a bark of laughter. 

_ “Come on,”  _ he said, hurrying to recover both his lost ground and his dignity.  _ “Worst plan ever. Go.” _

The problem with a memory as good as Una’s was that it was all too easy to bring to mind any number of terrible plans. The difficulty was in knowing where to begin. Or where to stop. And of late, there had been one in particular memory that ran over and over again in a Möbius loop of bad decisions.

Without an audience to witness her indecision, Una chewed her lip. It occurred to her that her behaviour earlier wasn’t the only thing she owed Gabriel an explanation for. There was also the small matter of why he was the one out there, while she was safe and warm back on the shuttle.

_ Because we’re pressed for time. Gabriel deploys the relay, and by the time he’s back here, I can have programmed systems ready to broadcast our message the moment we make orbit. It saves precious minutes.  _ Besides, after his obvious competence in navigating through the Vulcan desert, a region full of very real hazards, a place like this would hold very few dangers for him. It was all true, as far as it went. Gabriel had certainly accepted her reasoning without complaint. But it wasn’t the whole story.

“Very well.” She muted the feed, took a deep breath, and when the connection showed green again, said, “The  _ Enterprise  _ had received a distress signal from a downed survey ship.”

_ “All the best worst plans start like that,”  _ came Gabriel’s appreciative reply.  _ “Where were you?” _

“That is - very highly classified,” she said, ignoring his groan of protest. She couldn’t give him everything. She needed to maintain some sense of control over this story. It was vital that she did, in fact.

_ “Never let a little illegality stop us before.” _

“If the law ever catches up to me, I’d like to restrict the charges to crimes I can justify.”

_ “You’re serious.”  _ Gabriel huffed his grudging respect.  _ “Alright. Distress signal. Downed ship. Rescue mission?” _

“The chance of finding any survivors was almost non-existent. The signal was over eighteen years old. But we dispatched an away team all the same.”

_ “And you found them.”  _ Gabriel’s voice had taken on a new edge, all his earlier humour drawn out of it now. 

“The team found a group in miraculous health. Among them a human woman named Vina.”

_ “Miraculous, huh?” _

“It was a trap. Vina was the only true survivor. The others were an - illusion created by the planet’s real inhabitants. They took Chris prisoner. And on a subsequent rescue attempt, I was captured, along with a fellow crewmate.” Una paused. “They intended to breed us.”

_ “To—?”  _ Gabriel started, aghast. 

“We were not their first attempt. They had already captured a number of -  _ specimens _ for experimentation. But they believed that Chris represented their best chance.”

_ “At what, exactly?” _ Gabriel sounded furious. His heartrate was somehow even higher than before. Una grimaced. Her attempt at small talk was backfiring spectacularly. 

“Their planet was failing. Chris and his ... chosen mate would repopulate it and bring it back to health. They didn’t actually manage to harm us,” she added belatedly, watching his chart spike at a new and concerning angle.

_ “Right. Right.”  _ Una sat in silence, letting him stomp his second-hand anger out for a few paces.  _ “Shit. I’m sorry. That’s - awful.” _

The reaction was entirely in keeping with the little Una had pieced together of Gabriel’s character. And it was, she realised with a sinking sensation, precisely why she couldn’t possibly tell him the real reason this was the worst plan she’d ever heard.

To explain that would require admitting that none of what she’d just imparted, as heinous as it undoubtedly was, was strictly the part that bothered her. It hadn’t been the first time - or even the last time - that she’d wound up on the wrong side of a cell, or that she and Chris had found themselves in mortal danger. That wasn’t the problem. 

The real violation, the thing that still left her cold with dread, was the loss of control, the terror of having her innermost thoughts laid bare for everyone to see. The thing that made this the worst plan she’d ever heard was how despite all of that, she had agreed to lead a mission that would throw them at the mercy of another group of all-powerful telepaths. And to explain  _ that  _ meant exposing how unfit she was for the job. It meant admitting her cowardice, her irrational and selfish fear, to a man who had been through infinitely worse and still somehow managed to hold himself together. 

It sounded feeble, even to her.

Worst of all, Gabriel would be sympathetic. He would be _nice_ about it. And above all else, Una wasn’t sure that she could bear that. She didn’t want his pity.

“In order to escape, I overloaded a phaser and threatened to blow us all up,” she said, instead of any of that. It wasn’t the part of the story that mattered, but it was the part of the story that fit the bill right now. Small talk. 

There was no reply. Una leaned forward, casting a worried eye over the data feed. “Gabriel? Is everything alright?”

_ “I’m fine,”  _ he replied, and she was relieved to hear that he seemed to have regained his equilibrium. _ “Just … re-evaluating some things I thought I’d figured out about you.” _

_ Imagine how much he’d have to reassess if you’d told him something that was really important. _

_ “You overloaded a phaser?”  _ he echoed in disbelief, clearly still chewing over this new information.  _ “That was your whole plan?” _

“I can assure you that it was a thoroughly rational and well-thought out plan.”

He snorted.  _ “Oh, I have no doubt of that. It was also completely terrible. Well done. I’m impressed.” _

“Thank you. I think.”

Gabriel hesitated.

_ “What happened to the woman? Vina?” _

“Vina … elected to remain behind.”

_ “With those - monsters?”  _ he spluttered. _ “Chris  _ let  _ her stay there?” _

“Chris trusted her reasons. And I trusted Chris.” 

Una frowned down at the controls. That was the real problem with an eidetic memory, of course. When the images didn't fade, they could hurt you just the same every single time.

_ “What is it?”  _ Gabriel's voice brought her back to the present.

“Hmm?”

_ “You - sounded like you were going to say something.” _

“I was just thinking,” Una said quietly. “I’ve never spoken to anyone about any of that.”

_ “Not even Chris?” _

_ Do we need to discuss what happened down there, Number One?  _ Chris had asked in his ready room afterwards, careful, eyes on his PADD. And with nothing left to hide behind, Una had taken a deep breath. Perhaps things could be different, now that he had heard the truth. Perhaps something good could come of it after all. 

He’d looked up at that, and the words had died on her tongue, because Una read the truth in his face without the need for telepathy. Things were different after all. Chris had left a part of himself back there, somehow. Sealed it off like they'd sealed off that whole planet.

_ I believe everything of importance is covered in our report, sir.  _

Professional. Una had been good at professional, once.

In the quiet of the shuttle, she laughed, hollow.

“Especially not Chris.”

_ “But you and he were…” _

Una tensed.

“Were what?” 

_ “Close.” _

“He was my captain. I was his first officer. Of course we were close,” she said briskly. “I’m sure it was the same for you and your XO.”

_ “Well. Yeah, but—” _

“I believe it’s your turn now,” Una cut across him, more sharply than she’d intended. She’d given too much away as it was, she realised now. She never should have started down this road.

Fortunately, Gabriel didn’t press the issue. He was silent for a few paces, apparently reassessing whatever flippant reply he’d originally planned. Wonderful. She really had failed at small talk.

_ "Alright. Worst plan ever,"  _ he said at last.  _ "I've never told you how I…" _

He trailed off.

"Gabriel?" Una prompted.

_ "I'm at the coordinates." _

The view from Gabriel’s helmet filled the main screen, but it was like there was another set of images overlaying the feed. Una was seeing another cave, another planet, another mission—

She shook herself. It was all too close to the surface, that was all. 

“Take a reading. Please,” she added hastily.

_ “No problem.” _

There was a pause while Gabriel stooped to clamber into the mouth of the cave, and Una heard the thud of his boots hitting more rock. It took a moment for the cameras to adjust to the darkness inside, before she could make out the contours of the tunnel.

Data from Gabriel’s scans had begun to flow in. Usually, numbers would have provided her with exactly the kind of detachment she needed, but once again they held no interest for her. Instead, in the transparent aluminium specimen case, propped up against the helm, the clump of samples from the asteroid field that Gabriel had dubbed Spike had started to vibrate.

“Gabriel,” she said slowly, eyes fixed on the case. Her headache felt much more pronounced, all of a sudden.

_ “... lot of stalagmites. Stalactites—?” _

As Una watched, Spike rose, as one, from the bottom of the case and began spin, suspended in mid-air.

“Gabriel—!”

The rest of Una’s warning was cut off as Spike emitted a flash of light so bright she had to throw a hand up to shield herself. Even so, white spots danced behind her eyelids.

_ “Goddamnit,”  _ she heard Gabriel growl, somewhere under the whine of static that had erupted. It was almost a relief to find that he could hear it too, because it was loud enough that Una couldn’t be certain that it wasn’t coming from inside her own skull.  _ “Shut that—” _

As abruptly as it had started, the sound stopped. The light disappeared. Spike clattered as it landed back in a heap on the floor of its case. When Una blinked her eyes open again, gingerly, every one of her screens had turned dark, and the connection was lost.


End file.
